


Hurts So Good

by mumsywrites



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: 1980s, Abuse, Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - Gang World, Dimivain Big Bang, Explicit Sexual Content, Familial Abuse, Gangs, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Memory Loss, POV Sylvain Jose Gautier, Violence, implied prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:14:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29951181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mumsywrites/pseuds/mumsywrites
Summary: Sylvain feels stuck; stuck in a crummy apartment, cut off from his parents, no longer in contact with his dearest friends from home, and indebted to his gang leader brother. Really indebted. The money he makes from odd jobs around the city rarely stays in his pockets and usually leaves once he crosses one of Miklan’s gang members, with a few punches to the face as added interest. He’s desperate for a way out. And he thinks he’s found it.Tall, blonde, and a body that looks killer in faded denim, in walks Dimitri, his “guardian angel.” Too beautiful and kind to be human, Dimitri’s been popping out of nowhere to whisk Sylvain out of trouble. And to keep a few spare dollars in his pocket. But there’s something about him that strikes an odd chord of nostalgia within him that Sylvain can’t quite place; too many punches to the skull has left his memory quite blank. Could Dimitri truly be Sylvain’s saving grace to get out of this mess he calls his life?
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	Hurts So Good

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Dimivain Big Bang!
> 
> It's a lot more fun than the tags would imply, I promise. Huge shout out to my partner, [Sage](https://twitter.com/GenLamiaceae) for her awesome art in this fic! It was an honor and a pleasure to work with you. <3
> 
> This fic is vaguely set in New York City in the mid-1980s, and by vague I mean I never mention the city by name, save for a bunch of neighborhoods in Manhattan that give it away. There's also a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4JxxSwBuql6GlLV5MF9TcD?si=IpkJjpRhT4ajsYNja-uLSQ) on spotify! Lots of fun 80s hits to jam to while you read.
> 
> Enjoy!!

“You’ve got some kind of hold on me,” Sylvain starts singing, phone pressed tight to his ear, “you’re all wrapped up in a mystery! So wild, so free, so far from me!”

There’s a heavy groan on the other end of the phone line and Sylvain lights up at the sound of it. So of course, he continues.

“You’re all I want, my fantasy!!”

“Are you seriously quoting Duran Duran lyrics at me right now?”

“Dot, are you for real? That was Def Leppard, come on.” Sylvain twirls the bright red phone cord in his fingers, the only thing in his bleak, rundown studio apartment with any hint of life or excitement.

“Sylvain, you know I don’t care much for hair metal.”

“I consider that an insult,” he scoffs, tugging at the _Pyromania_ tour shirt at his chest. “They are not just another tacky hair metal band, these guys actually have _talent_. Have you heard those harmonies? Absolutely killer.”

Dorothea sighs and Sylvain can just barely hear it over the buzzing noise of the background; she must be at a bar already. But it’s still so early, barely a quarter past nine.

“Okay, fine, I’ll give them that much,” she agrees, begrudgingly. “Anyway, are you coming by or what?”

His brow lifts, but only so much; it’s still a bit sore from the hit he took last week, just about healed from that night, but still a deep shade of black and blue. “Where are you?”

There’s a pause and he can hear her asking a few people the name of the bar. “Hot Rods, something dumb like that. It’s on the Lower East Side.”

Sylvain groans.

Miklan’s territory.

“Seriously? You want me meeting you _there_?”

“Oh, come on.” There’s a whiny lilt to her voice and he knows he’s already lost. “You promised we’d get together after you bailed on me last week. Don’t be such a drag.”

Sylvain nods and forces a friendly laugh; he was _supposed_ to meet her for drinks the previous week, until he woke up in a gutter the following morning after coming face to face with a fist. One of Miklan’s gang members. The twenty dollars that was in his pocket? Gone. Couldn’t even buy gauze to staunch the puss that spewed out from the wound.

“Not my fault, you know that.”

“Please? I miss you, Sylvie.”

“Ugh,” he groans, rolling his eyes. “Stop with that nickname.”

She giggles and it’s melodic enough to convince him the trip to the Lower East Side won’t be _that_ bad.

“Only if you come by to get some drinks with me!”

With another less forced laugh, Sylvain nods. “Alright, alright, I’ll head out in a bit. But one question.”

“Yes, Sylvie???”

He cringes again. “You’re not seeing any of Miklan’s guys right now, are you?”

“At the present moment, or…?”

“In general. You haven’t taken any on as a client recently, have you?”

“Well,” she pauses, and Sylvain’s stomach drops. “A week or two ago, yeah. They pay real well, Sylvain. I can’t afford to pass up that kind of money.”

He groans, sinking into his couch as some of the filling from inside spews out the seam. “Come on, seriously? That’s how they always find me. You.”

“Hey, don’t put all this on me. You’re the one with the hefty debt.”

“I didn’t…!”

He stops, holding the receiver against his neck and taking in several deep breaths. She’s not entirely wrong. The downward spiral of his life started when he dropped out of school, unable to handle the pressure from his father of being a straight A student at the most prestigious university in the midwest, which could hardly be called prestigious. He didn’t even know Miklan was in this city. But he found it to be good luck.

In the beginning, at least…

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, putting the receiver back to his ear. “I guess that’s true.”

“You can always take them on as clients, too, you know.”

“Oh yeah, that sounds awesome. Being the personal glory hole for my brother’s gang members. Nice one.”

She laughs; good. He’s glad he got a laugh out of her from something like that.

“Besides, I’m not even…doing that anymore.”

“Oh? Then how have you been making ends meet, Sylvain?”

“Not important. Let’s end this call now so I can get down to you, okay? I’m sure the bartender wants his phone back by now.”

Dorothea laughs that sickeningly sexy laugh that’s gotten Sylvain into loads of trouble before. “Oh, Petra here? No, she’s a real peach. Loves letting me use the phone all night, right doll?”

Sylvain can hear the wink in her voice.

“Alright, I’m heading out. Give me like…30 minutes?”

“30 minutes!? Seriously?”

“Hey, you want me going across town to the Lower East Side, so yeah. It’s gonna take me some time!”

“Alright, Sylvie, see you then. Don’t leave me hanging!”

She hangs up the phone and Sylvain stares at the receiver, the monotonous tone bleeding into his mind with the rest of his numbing thoughts.

Ten thousand dollars.

Barely a fraction of it paid off.

And Miklan likes to add interest.

_“Of course I’d be happy to help out my baby brother. What’s family for, huh?”_

That voice haunts his mind every night. He should have known better than to trust Miklan’s “charity” at the time. Sure, a handful of the cash got Sylvain started in his apartment, as well as a fresh set of clothes. And the rest…

He laughs; he couldn’t help that he spent the rest of it in one weekend, going on a full out bender, blazed out of his mind. Isn’t that what Miklan’s gang does, anyway? Spend all their money on blow and booze?

It apparently had insulted Miklan.

The debt became fifteen thousand dollars after that night, especially when Miklan was able to trace back the drugs that Sylvain bought from a rival gang.

He didn’t know.

He was stupid. Still _is_ stupid.

And he needed an escape. Still needs an escape.

He looks around his apartment, setting the phone down as the constant drip from the ceiling fills the pan at his floor.

“Gonna need to empty that soon.” He groans, grabbing his jacket and his wallet, hoping he can maybe buy one drink at the bar. Slinging the jacket over his shoulders, he heads out of his apartment.

He never locks it. Doesn’t bother when it already looks like the joint has been stripped of anything valuable.

Winding down the stairs, Sylvain hopes he can make it to the bar without meeting a member of Miklan’s crew.

He knows better than that, though.

* * *

There’s a homeless man slapping spoons against his knee in the subway car, his own version of music. A few coins sit in the beat up soup can at his feet, as well as a few subway tokens. Sylvain sits down onto one of the graffiti covered plastic seats, on the opposite end of the car; that man will definitely be making more money than Sylvain that night.

With a bitter laugh, he rests he head back against the window; how does one of the most wealthy CEOs of the country produce not just one, but _two_ worthless sons? At least Miklan has made a name for himself. Not a good one, but still. He’s got money. He’s got power.

Sylvain has sixteen dollars and twenty three cents in his wallet. Rent is due next week. Last month’s rent is overdue. He groans, slipping low in his seat. “I don’t even have a spoon at home.”

After several stops, Sylvain slips through the crowded subway car to deposit his twenty three cents into the homeless guy’s soup can, sneaking in a wink and a wave before he leaves the car. He steps onto the even more crowded platform, pushing past people who don’t even have the decency to let people off the train before they get on; it’s a simple logic and courtesy, how do they not get it?

He runs up the steps and glances at the street signs. Just a few blocks away. That’s good.

He starts south, just along the avenue, hands slipping into his pockets, and quickens his pace towards the bar. He’s not sure what warehouse Miklan’s is using today, but based on his run in last week, he knows it can’t be far; his gang members like to pick up escorts and drugs along these streets at night, making their presence well known. But it’s a Wednesday night, he thinks, and not yet 10 o’clock, so he hopes he can skirt by without catching their notice.

Really hopes. Last week’s bruise still hurts.

He turns the corner, a block away from the bar, when he runs into someone, the impact sending him flat on his ass.

“Fuck! Come on, buddy, can’t you see that I’m…?”

He stops and looks up at the hulking form above him, the man’s tattered jacket sporting a familiar emblem. Sylvain’s eyes open wide and his breath catches in his throat; he notices that jacket patch anywhere.

A circle of flames around an icon of a dark black swirls, with little spikes coming out of it; the Gautier family emblem, bastardized for Miklan’s personal mark.

Sylvain swallows hard, trying not to think about the sticky patch of sidewalk his hand currently sits in.

The gang member above him tilts his head and sneers. “I know that hair anywhere,” he spits through crooked teeth. “You’re Miklan’s bratty kid brother, aren’t you?”

So he must be new. Doesn’t even know his name yet. That’s a plus.

“I take it you know him well?” Sylvain doesn’t move, just nods towards the patch on the shoulder of the guy’s ragged leather jacket.

He laughs; it’s low and mucus lined and Sylvain wants to hurl at the sound of it.

“Yeah,” he says, slipping a knife out of his pocket. “Well enough to know what to do when I see you.”

Fuck.

Sylvain scrambles on the pavement, but he doesn’t know where to go, where to run. And it doesn’t matter when the guy grabs him by the back of his collar and yanks him down an alleyway, slamming him into busted metal garbage cans. Sylvain falls among the refuse, rotten food and old scraps of paper strewn about the ground. He’s really pissed the hot water has been turned off in his apartment because he’d love to just burn this shit off when he gets home.

If that even happens tonight.

Miklan’s crony kicks Sylvain hard in the thigh, just missing his crotch.

 _Fucking thank you,_ Sylvain muses, more worried about that knife.

“How much you got on you, baby brother?”

“Like sixteen bucks, how will that fucking help? It’s not like any of you assholes keep track…”

And there’s a boot to his mouth, shutting him up instantly as his teeth pierce his tongue and a tooth rumbles loose. Sylvain coughs up what he hopes isn’t blood, but he can’t make anything out in the darkness of the alleyway. And of course, his vision is also completely fogged up.

Sorry, Dorothea.

The guy lifts him again, by the front of his shirt, and his breath is vile; he smells like a crack head, honestly. “I’m ready to reduce your debt by sixteen dollars if you’re willing to cooperate with me, pretty boy.”

Sylvain whines and writhes; he’s too weak to even try fighting him off, and he knows it won’t matter, anyway. The last time Sylvain delivered a beating back to one of Miklan’s thugs, he received an escort to the warehouse, so Miklan could beat him personally. Brotherly love, he called it.

“Just get it over with,” Sylvain groans out, before a flash of bright yellow slams into the back of the gang member’s head, sending Sylvain flying back to the ground.

He looks up, the sound of fists hitting skin and bone hitting brick flooding his ears. Miklan’s thug is cowering in the alley, covered in blood, hands over his head. Above him stands…

“Holy shit.”

Sylvain has never experienced love at first sight. He can tell as many people as he wants that he has, especially when trying to pick them up (or back when he was trying to make an easy dollar off his body), but he has never truly fallen in love with someone upon looking at them for the first time.

Maybe it’s the circumstances, maybe it’s the near concussion he’s experiencing, which wouldn’t be his first, that’s for damn sure.

Or maybe it’s the big, blond, and beautiful man standing over the cowering thug on the ground. With a white medical grade eyepatch covering his right eye, his other eye is a brilliant shade of blue that pierces Sylvain right through his heart. His muscles are held tight in a far too small white tee shirt and his ass.

Fuck, what an ass.

Bruce Springsteen would have sold a _lot_ more records if that was the ass on the cover of “Born in the USA.”

Sylvain swallows hard as his guardian angel lays one more blow to the thug, picking him up by the neck and bringing him close to his face.

“Get out of here,” he warns, and the low tone of his voice shoots down Sylvain’s spine. “And don’t mention either of us, got it?”

He lets go and the thug scampers out of the alleyway without a glance back.

Sylvain’s mouth feels like pudding, spilling nothing but nonsense out when his beautiful protector turns to look down at him.

“What are you doing here?”

“Did it hurt?”

The angel in ripped denim looks down at his fists and then back over his shoulder where the thug has run out back onto the streets. “Probably hurt him more than…”

“No, baby. When you fell from heaven.”

Sylvain wears a dopey smile, still spread on the garbage lined asphalt. He honestly expects another punch, but the blond reaches out a hand instead, a worrisome look in his lone eye.

“He must have gotten you good,” he says in a pathetic attempt of a laugh, pulling Sylvain up off the ground, and the warm lilt of it stirs something deep within Sylvain, almost akin to nostalgia.

“Not as good as you. Do they give angels like you a name?”

His savior shakes his head and Sylvain can swear that his lips are twitching in a smile. “I’m no angel,” he says, darkly. And supremely sexy. Sylvain can feel the tone of his voice down to his core. “Dimitri.”

“Yeah, I can get used to screaming that name in bed.”

Dimitri sighs, hiding an attempted laugh beneath it, as he turns around to leave the alley, fists set in his pockets. “Go home, Sylvain.”

Sylvain is not nearly _that_ concussed, so he runs out of the alley as his angel turns the corner. “Wait, how the fuck did you know my name?!”

And he’s gone. Nowhere to be seen.

“Yeah,” Sylvain coughs out, leaning against the brick wall. “He definitely has wings.”

* * *

Sylvain walks into the bar, thankful to still have sixteen dollars in his pocket. He notices a few concerned glances pointed in his direction; he knows he looks like shit, he doesn’t need wide eyes and hushed whispers to confirm that fact. His jaw hurts, but after a few drinks, he knows it’ll go away.

Culture Club is blasting over the stereo system, a few loose drunks swaying off rhythm on the dance floor across from the bar.

“Oh my God, Sylvain, what happened?”

He hears Dorothea before he sees her, thin brows knitted in concern as she wraps her arms tightly around him.

He smiles, melting into her embrace before she pulls back, cradling his chin in her acrylic tipped fingers. He hopes he still has all of his teeth, and moves her hands away to kiss her on the cheek.

“Oh, you know. The usual.”

She takes in a sharp breath through clenched teeth and leads him to the bar, a stool saved just for him. “I didn’t think it’d be this bad! And all for what, a drink?”

“Please, Dottie, it’s okay, I’m…” He stops, thinking about rugged, ripped arms wrapped in tight white sleeves and smiles. “I’ve got a guardian angel,” he says, trying not to sound too smug as he sits upon the stool.

She leans forward on the stool, her breasts nearly spilling out of her low cut top, and presses her palm upon his forehead. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

With a laugh, he waves off her hand and swirls in the stool, meeting eye to eye with the bartender; must be Petra, because she is _definitely_ Dorothea’s type.

“I’ll take your cheapest beer on tap,” he says with a wink.

Dorothea slams a twenty onto the bar, eyes directly on Sylvain. “Shots. On me.”

Petra gives Dorothea a wink; Sylvain tries not to read too much into her relationship with Dorothea, but he’s thankful it’ll get him drinks with limited questions on his condition.

“Dot, please, this is overkill, I…”

“Don’t worry about it,” she says, leaning over to sneak a kiss on Petra’s cheek as the twenty disappears behind the bar. “Just as long as you cut it out with that nickname. Seriously. I’m not an elderly woman.”

With a laugh, he reaches out to grab her hand, resting on her knee, and gives it a comforting squeeze; she’s too good to him. “Thanks, Dorothea.”

“So what happened?” She reaches her other hand to his unbruised cheek, rubbing soothing circles against it with her thumb.

“Turned a corner and ran into a fist.”

“Oh, honey.”

Petra returns with two shot glasses. From high above the bar, she pours in a clear liquor without a single drop hitting the bar. It’s seriously a shame this bar is in such a shitty area because Sylvain already likes Petra.

“Enjoy,” she says, “and I’ll be right back with that beer for you.”

The night is turning out better than he anticipated, thug beating aside.

“You know, I actually like this part of town,” he says, turning back to Dorothea. “It’s just a shame that it’s _his_ territory. I can’t really walk around here without walking into a fist or two.”

Dorothea reaches over the bar and grabs both shot glasses, shoving one in Sylvain’s hand as the chill of the liquor spills over his fingers.

“I know.” She brings the shot glass up to her nose and takes a whiff, as if it’s a fine wine. “But this guardian angel nonsense. You’re not on anything, are you?”

He laughs, glancing over at the dance floor and wondering how stiff that Dimitri guy would be out there. Not like it matters. He’s hot. “You do realize I’m joking, right? And yeah, I’ve been clean for a while now.” He tosses back the shot — vodka, he bites back the sting — and slams the glass back on the bar. “Almost a year, I think. Too broke for that shit.”

Dorothea takes her shot down in one gulp, her hand waving over the glasses to usher in another round. “So then who is it?” She coughs through her words; she’s never been good at handling liquor but damn if she doesn’t try.

“You’re familiar with this area, right?”

She nods, eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“Do you know any big, beautiful, blond guys? Anyone who goes by the name Dimitri? Looks like he’s been chiseled out of marble? A god among men, honestly.”

Dorothea laughs, leaning forward in her stool. “You sound smitten.”

Leaning back against the bar, Sylvain looks up to the ceiling, a cool glass of beer sliding into his cupped hand. “Maybe I am. And he beat the other guy to a bloody pulp.”

He tosses his head to glance at Dorothea, a smug smirk on his lips.

“All for me.”

He can see her suppress an eye roll as Petra lifts the vodka bottle over the bar for their second round.

“Can’t say I know anyone named Dimitri, but by the way you describe him, maybe I should.”

“Hey, he’s _my_ guardian angel. Hands off.”

She laughs, the cadence of her voice more soothing than the booze running through his system. “If you say so.”

Two more shot glasses appear in their hands and Sylvain and Dorothea clink a toast before downing the next gulp.

| _hypnotized, i’m shaking to my knees_ |

Ms. Nuvelle is one feisty old lady, despite being close to ninety, and Sylvain can always depend on her for a few extra bucks. True, he ends up staying in her apartment hours on end listening to her stories, but it’s much nicer than his place and her stories are riveting, to say the least.

She spins tales about her time working in speakeasies during Prohibition and all the men she fooled around with before settling down when the Depression hit. Says she even caught the attention of a few gals back in the day.

And Sylvain has seen the pictures; Ms. Nuvelle had killer legs back then, it was a shame for her to hide them behind all those fashionable long skirts.

He also likes the tender care he receives from her after a beating, but he doesn’t like to worry her. But the promise of twenty bucks and some soothing ointment is enough to get Sylvain at her door in the morning.

“Oh, Sylvain, what happened to you this time?”

“Walked into a telephone pole, Ms. Nuvelle.”

She clicks her tongue, rolling her wheelchair away from the door so he can step inside.

“You know those excuses don’t work on me, young man.”

He laughs, closing the door behind him and staring at her kitchen table; he can see a shopping list and some money.

“Of course, but you know how I don’t like to make you worry.”

She looks over her shoulder, that feisty speakeasy spirit flaring in her eyes. “I don’t worry. I just think you’re an idiot.”

That’s exactly what he loves about her; the cold hard truths she lays at his feet. No flowery words, no sympathy. Because Sylvain doesn’t need that. Sometimes, he needs a slap in the face. And she’s happy to provide.

Damn, he was born several decades too late.

“I’ve got a job for you,” she says, wheeling over to her kitchen table. “And if you do it well enough, maybe I’ll patch you up real nice when you get back.”

“You’re too kind, Ms. Nuvelle.”

She snatches up the grocery list as well as the two twenty dollar bills, and Sylvain can see another piece of paper slip into her hands.

“I need a few things, preferably from that grocer down near Astor Place.”

Sylvain whistles; the Lower East Side again. But he knew she would send him there, which is precisely why he came down this morning.

“That’s a bit of a hike, Ms. Nuvelle.”

“Oh, nonsense, you’re a sturdy young man. Just ask all those telephone poles you keep walking into.”

Sylvain can’t help but laugh as he takes the money and both pieces of paper; there’s not much on the list, but the other piece is a folded over and sealed with what looks like wax. A letter.

“And I assume this is for Mr. Albrecht?”

She gives a throaty laugh behind her hand and winks at Sylvain. “You know me too well, my dear.”

* * *

The subway at midday isn’t nearly as crowded as it is at night or at rush hour, but less crowds means a greater chance at being seen by a member of Miklan’s gang. In the reflection of the glass window across from him, Sylvain can see how swollen his lip has gotten overnight, but he leans his head back with a dreamy sigh, zoning out to the flickering light over his head; he could look so much worse if not for Dimitri.

Sylvain shakes his head, shutting his eyes to reflect on his grand plan: he knows this area will get him into trouble, but where there’s trouble, there’s Dimitri.

He laughs, feeling like a fool for thinking he fell for Dimitri at first sight; Dimitri had revealed enough that it wasn’t the case when he knew Sylvain’s name.

Teetering at the edge of his most busted memories, Sylvain can remember glimpses of a tall, blonde man, taking care of Sylvain’s more dangerous run-ins with Miklan’s gang. Of course Dimitri knew where to find him. Of course he was there to sweep him off his feet. So if that’s the truth of it, Dimitri should find Sylvain as the trouble finds him.

Fool proof.

He gets off at the Astor Place stop, easily running up the stairs out of the subway and turning the corner towards Albrecht’s Grocery. It’s a small little shop, run by the Albrecht family for almost a century. Quite impressive, Sylvain must admit, for a legacy to carry on for so long. His own family would be able to tout a similar milestone, if not for Miklan and Sylvain fucking it all up for the Gautier line instead.

Oh well.

He makes quick work of Ms. Nuvelle’s list, grabbing a quart of milk as well as some fresh produce and a fine looking loaf of bread. At the register is Mr. Albrecht himself and Sylvain can tell that back in his day, this guy was 110 percent muscle. In fact, most of it still hangs on his body.

“Afternoon, Red!” His voice booms throughout the store and Sylvain is thankful that Mr. Albrecht never remembers his name.

“Afternoon, sir,” he says, pushing his groceries on the counter along with Ms. Nuvelle’s note.

Mr. Albrecht continues his obnoxious laughter as he bags up the groceries and his hand pauses over the letter. His brow lifts and he smirks at Sylvain, dragging it across the counter discreetly.

“This wouldn’t so happen to be from my good friend, Connie, would it?”

Sylvain scoffs, but keeps his smirk as he hands over one of the twenty dollar bills she gave him. “Sir, is it proper to refer to such a fine woman so casually?”

Mr. Albrecht laughs once more, finishing up the transaction and handing Sylvain back his change as the register dings. “Too true, my boy, too true. You tell her I’ll have a response for her soon, you hear? You have a nice day, now, Sylvain.”

Alright. Maybe he _did_ remember Sylvain’s name. Sylvain gives a nervous laugh as he grabs the groceries and waves off Mr. Albrecht.

But it’s also precisely what Sylvain wanted. He wants any of Miklan’s guys to know he’s here. Because Dimitri shouldn’t be too far off.

He decides to round the block and take the long way back to a further subway station; the walk will do him some good. Or perhaps some bad.

For the first time in a while, he hopes for the latter.

After a few blocks, Sylvain notices a young kid at his heels, hands deep in his pocket and a black eye to rival Sylvain’s worst. He crosses the street after he sees it’s clear and looks back, shooting the kid a wink as he steps up onto the sidewalk.

The kid’s eyes widen and he nearly fumbles back into the street: rookie.

“Nice day we’re having, huh?” Sylvain turns around to continue towards the station. The kid doesn’t respond, but his footsteps grow quicker and soon, Sylvain can feel the edge of a knife at his back.

“Sure…sure is, mister.”

Sylvain stops; no one is around, except a few shop keepers tending to their store fronts.

“You must be happy to see me, huh?” Sylvain’s voice is dark; he noticed the pattern of cigarette scars on the kid’s forearms when he turned around. He’s not a member of the gang, he just _owes_ Miklan. Sylvain knows what it’s like to be in that boat, his own scars now just little pink marks on his arm from years ago.

“Didn’t think it’d be this easy,” the kid whispers back, his voice shaking. There’s excitement in there, but Sylvain can hear and feel the shakes of an addict.

He groans, keeping still as the knife shakes against the back of his shirt. “How much do you owe him?”

“N-not…not as much as you.”

“Well, you’d have to be a special kind of idiot to have my debt.”

In one swift move, Sylvain turns on his heel, jabbing his elbow into the kid and grabbing the knife as it begins to fall. He stands above the kid, splayed on the sidewalk in a position Sylvain has been in far too many times to count.

“Are you just paying off a debt or do you want to join his idiot crew of thugs?”

“Sh-shut up, man!” The kid’s eyes are wide and bloodshot and Sylvain feels bad for him. He’s seen too many of them pass around the streets, trying to roughhouse him the way to more seasoned gang members do, and they always fail. And then Sylvain never sees them again. Sylvain flicks the blade back into its handle, leaning over and handing it back to the kid.

“He’s a piece of shit, kid. Get out while you can.”

There’s a moment where Sylvain thinks he’s reached the kid, his features smoothing out into something less crazed. He truly thinks his little pep talked has worked, and he smiles when the kid grips the knife and pockets it.

Sylvain smirks, but before he can stand up entirely, a hard punch meets his cheeks. As his blood splatters before him, he can see a set of brass knuckles on this kid’s fingers.

Well, fuck.

Sylvain falls to the ground, the milk bottle shattering in the bag, soaking through the rest of Ms. Nuvelle’s groceries. The fact that Mr. Albrecht still sells milk in glass is ridiculous enough as it is and Sylvain prepares himself for another beating as the kid wildly charges towards him.

* * *

It’s honestly a miracle that his whole plan works in this moment.

Sylvain is sitting there, blood spilling from his open lip, hand soaked in farm fresh milk, watching as Dimitri flies into view to pummel the kid to the ground. He wrenches the brass knuckles out of the kid’s hand and Sylvain swears he can hear a few bones break under all the screaming.

The kid is cradling his hand, his once wild eyes pathetically wide.

“Get out of here,” Dimitri warns, low, before the kid nods erratically and scrambles off the ground, darting back down the street.

Sylvain feels far too smug for a guy that can’t even pick up groceries for an elderly woman, but he’s in shock that his stupid plan worked.

Dimitri is dressed in the same denim get up from last night, but this time he traded his medical eye patch for something more dramatic: black.

Sylvain smiles, not bothering to get up because Dimitri is far too gorgeous from this angle. “I knew you had wings,” he hums, feeling high from just looking at the guy.

Dimitri looks down, his brow contorted in concern. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m not in your arms, that’s what’s wrong.”

Dimitri sighs and rolls his eye, a move Sylvain is far too familiar with. But instead of stalking off like any other guy or girl he hits on, Dimitri reaches out his hand to lift Sylvain up from the ground.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

Sylvain laughs, now on his feet, and looks down at the discarded groceries on the pavement. Guess he’ll have to stalk back over to Albrecht’s. Or really, he can pick the same shit up anywhere, Ms. Nuvelle just wanted the damn letter to be delivered.

Sylvain turns his attention back to Dimitri and leans close, getting a good look at the way the blue in his eye swirls around his pupil. “And you’re ridiculously hot.” He grabs Dimitri’s wrist and winks before he leans in, his one goal getting to know what those lips taste like.

Unfortunately for him, Dimitri snatches his wrist back and pulls away, shaking his head at Sylvain. “What are you…?”

“Ah, shit, sorry, not into guys?” Sylvain feels somewhat like a fool, but he can’t help his urges. He shoots an awkward smile at Dimitri, running his hand along the back of his neck. “Thought I’d thank you with a kiss.”

Dimitri shakes his head, but Sylvain’s heart jumps with hope when he hears a slight laugh from his angel.

“Is that so?”

“Well, you’re always running to my rescue. Wanted to give you something nice and thoughtful in return.”

Dimitri smiles and Sylvain feels the air rush out of his lungs; he’s even more gorgeous like this.

“I guess I can’t say no to that…”

Sylvain hums with approval as Dimitri closes in on him, slowly. His eyes dart to the side, but if no one saw the beating Sylvain just got, no one will see the two of them making out in the street.

The anticipation is all too much for Sylvain; he pulls Dimitri in, resting his hand on the back of his neck, feeling those silky blond strands between his fingers and finally tasting the sweetest of his lips. It’s nice and Sylvain wants it to last just a little bit longer, but Dimitri breaks away first, his eye lidded and breath short.

“You…should stay out of trouble,” he whispers in a long swallow.

All Sylvain can do is laugh, licking his lips as he steps back to get a better view of Dimitri, staring straight into that bright blue eye, sparkling with something akin to nostalgia. A rush of warmth floods over Sylvain, a pang of a memory he’s certain isn’t real, but it _feels_ real.

With a smirk, he cocks his head to the side, his own daring nature getting the best of him. “Then how am I supposed to see you?”

| _when I wake from dreaming, tell me is it really love_ |

Days pass and Sylvain decides listening to Dimitri might be a good idea, and so he stays out of trouble. He does a few more odd jobs for Ms. Nuvelle and even manages to land a job delivering pizzas to bored housewives on the Upper West Side. It’s tedious, to say the least, but it’s the first time he’s able to look in the mirror in weeks and stare back at a complexion without cuts and scrapes and bruises. He can even see his freckles, rising lightly above his creamy, clear skin.

The extra money in his pocket is good, though, and he manages to pay at least one month’s worth of rent before he’s broke again. There’s only a so much a wealthy housewife will tip before he has to offer a little something extra and he’s not that desperate to lose his job or get in trouble with her husband who has more power than Miklan could ever hope for.

He sighs, falling back onto his bed, and stares at the cracks in his ceiling. While he’s thankful to stay away from the beatings, he can’t stop thinking about Dimitri. His soft lips, the way his eye shines in the sunlight, the tight bulge of his muscles wrapped in thin fabric and torn denim. It’s enough to stir something low in Sylvain’s gut but he grumbles at the thought of chasing his own pleasure.

“Fuck it,” he says, bolting out of his bed and running for the door.

He doesn’t _need_ a reason to head down to the Lower East Side. He can just go whenever he wants. Miklan’s territory or not, Sylvain’s a grown ass man with grown ass needs; getting his hands on Dimitri’s ass just so happens to be one of them.

He pats his pocket, making sure he has enough subway tokens for a round trip and runs out the door, nearly sliding down the banister to the ground floor.

The subway ride goes by surprisingly fast and he gets off a few blocks away from the park in the Village. He figures with so many people, he’ll have a good chance of finding Dimitri. There’s also a slim chance any of Miklan’s thugs will beat him up in broad daylight on a college campus.

Besides. It’s the _Village_ , which is not Miklan’s turf. Dimitri told him to stay out of trouble and that’s exactly what he plans on doing.

The sea of heads that welcomes Sylvain at the park is a tad overwhelming, but it’s a gorgeous spring day and plenty of college kids want to get their fill of the fresh air. Or, as fresh as they can get in this city.

He smiles, thinking back on his brief stint as a college student before his trend of bender weekends got him kicked out. Apparently, he had to attend his classes in order to pass, not just show up to the finals hungover and smelling of sex.

But the thought of home in the midwest swims in his mind; Dad wanted nothing more to do with him, either, saying he was a waste of money and bad for business. He just wished Felix and Ingrid had been more sympathetic towards his plight. Or at least Felix. Losing his home, his closest friends, and any hope for the future was what sent him out this way; life in a dirty city had to be more exciting than cow tipping.

He shudders at the thought, bringing himself back to the reality of the moment and the goal at hand; Dimitri.

He honestly has no idea where to find him. Where does he live? Where does he work? What does he do with his spare time? What does he look like under all those layers of tight clothing? He hums lightly as he closes his eyes to imagine the feel of his skin, covered in sweat, before he runs into a firm body.

He needs to stop making a habit of this.

Thankfully, when he opens his eyes, he sees it belongs to Dimitri.

That bright, blue eye of his widens at the sight of Sylvain and it immediately darts around to inspect the area, making Sylvain fold over in laughter.

“I’d apologize, but you’re too damn cute right now.”

“What?” Dimitri’s voice is hushed, his eye still scanning their perimeter. “What are you even doing down here?”

“Enjoying the weather,” Sylvain says, plopping onto an empty bench and resting his arm around the back rest. He nods to the empty space beside him and gives Dimitri a wink. “Fortunate enough to have found such great company. Join me?”

Dimitri bites his lip, pulling back enough of the plump, pink skin with his teeth to send a surge down to Sylvain’s groin.

Fuck, this guy is hot.

“You really shouldn’t come looking for me.” His voice is hushed, his eye darting from Sylvain to either of his sides. “It’s not a good idea to spend so much time around me.”

“And why not?” Sylvain’s voice booms in the area, enough that Dimitri scrambles closer to him to shush him. “I said I wanted to show my appreciation for all your help. Am I not allowed to do that?”

The way Dimitri’s face colors with light pink causes Sylvain to shiver in his seat. He leans forward, elbows on his knees and face inches away from Dimitri’s crotch.

“I thought…that kiss was your thank you.”

Dimitri’s not meeting his gaze, but neither is he checking his surroundings anymore.

Good.

“I’ve got more where that came from,” he says, catching Dimitri’s gaze and holding it still. “Besides, I’d like to thank you properly. With a date.”

Dimitri laughs and seems comfortable enough to cross his arms across his stupidly broad chest. “A date?”

“Will you deny me? It’d be really weird, what with you coming to my aid whenever I manage to find myself on the wrong side of a fist.”

Dimitri laughs once more and the sincerity of his smile warms Sylvain down to his core.

“Are you sure you can even afford to take me out on a date?”

“What, are you some super high society guy? Only interested in exclusive clubs and five star restaurants?”

Dimitri shakes his head, rolling his eye, but the smile still lingers on his lips and all Sylvain wants to do is kiss them again.

“Pizza,” Sylvain says, breaking the silence between the two of them. “I know the perfect place, and it’s no where near the Village or the Lower East Side.”

“There are quite a few differing opinions on the perfect place for pizza in this city.”

Sylvain shakes his head and _tsks_ at Dimitri’s attempts to turn him down, but he hasn’t done so yet. Which makes Sylvain take the dive.

He reaches over to grab a pen, discarded to the ground below the bench; probably from some local college kid, cramming for midterms in the gorgeous weather. Standing up, he grabs Dimitri’s wrist, carefully unpeeling his arms from across his chest, and writes his phone number on the top of Dimitri’s hand.

Dimitri takes in a quick breath, but doesn’t pull back or resist from the sharp scratch of the pen.

Sylvain drops it to the ground where it belongs and leans down to place a kiss over Dimitri’s knuckles. He peeks up through the curtain of his bangs and smirks at the lovely shade of red growing across Dimitri’s cheeks.

“Call me to find out, then.” He stands straight, stepping back with his fingers still clutching Dimitri’s, letting their fingers catch the last bit of touch before they part and Sylvain walks away.

Success.

* * *

Sylvain’s thankful it takes Dimitri a few days to muster up the courage to give him a call, since he’s able to take on a few more jobs to gather enough money for a couple slices of pizza and maybe a few drinks later in the night.

“Sylvain?” Dimitri’s voice falters over the line and Sylvain gushes silently against his wall.

“Is this my guardian angel?” He’s twirling the cherry red phone cord around his finger, toes curling with excitement against the hardwood floor.

“You really need to stop with that nickname,” Dimitri sighs and Sylvain is just imaging the look on his face. “I don’t want you to find out the hard way how unfitting it is for me.”

Sylvain laughs, falling onto his busted couch with his feet in the air. “Bullshit!”

He totally feels like a teenage girl, flirting with her crush over the phone and riling him up until he caves in.

“It’s super fitting for the guy who’s always got my back.”

There’s little more than a cough over the line and Sylvain fantasizes about the different shades of blush on Dimitri’s cheeks. “So since you’re calling me, I take it you’re ready for that date?”

A few beats and Dimitri answers, firmly, “Yes.”

“Awesome!” Sylvain’s trying his best to contain his excitement. He glances around the room to make sure it’s as clean as it can get. “Meet me at Al’s on 9th Ave. Meatpacking district.”

“When?”

“As soon as you can.”

They hang up and Sylvain runs to the mirror on the wall, checking out every minute detail of his appearance. He’s aware Dimitri has seen him at his worst and yet he doesn’t want to disappoint. This is a _date_ , and he wants to look good.

Rummaging through his closet, he finds some of his best clothes, pieces he didn’t dare to sell for the money he knows he could make off the designer labels. He spends a good amount of time trying on different combinations, checking himself out in the warped mirror, seeing which pair of pants hugs his ass just right, which shirt reveals enough of his pectoral cleavage to get Dimitri salivating.

It takes some time for Sylvain to make his selection, and it’s beyond simple: dark denim, a tight black shirt, and busted up boots. But the look is killer and he’s convinced he’ll get laid like this.

After one last check at his reflection, he runs his hands through his hair until it reaches the perfect level of messy yet hot. With a small kiss to himself in the mirror, he turns on his heel to inspect the bed, sitting in the middle of the room. He washed his sheets just the other night and is banking on rolling around in them with Dimitri in just a few hours.

It’s been a while since he’s had a good lay and he knows Dimitri will be perfect to end that losing streak.

He closes his eyes, takes in a deep breath, and darts for the door.

Al’s is right around the corner and while he ruined a job opportunity with the owner, Alois, a few months ago, he’s still welcomed as a customer.

As long as he pays.

“And what trouble brings you in tonight, Sylvain?”

He steps into the pizzeria, black and white tiles covered in grime and cracked over years of use. He leans against the counter and smirks. “Nothing, just thought I’d indulge tonight.”

Alois raises his brow, staring long and hard at Sylvain.

“With what money?”

Sylvain can’t help but laugh, taking a good whiff of the oil and garlic hanging in the air. “Good one, Alois.”

“That…wasn’t even one of my jokes.”

Moments later, the bell above the door rings and Sylvain turns, his smile widening at the way Dimitri’s blond hair waves in front of his eyes when he steps in.

“Evening, pal,” Alois says with a wave.

Dimitri nods but Sylvain stops any further conversation as he slides up to Dimitri, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“S-sylvain,” Dimitri’s voice is low, his eye darting right to Alois.

“We’re safe here,” he whispers. “Alois is cool.”

Alois just shakes his head, wiping his hands with an overused towel. “Kids these days,” he tsks. “What can I get for you?”

Sylvain watches as Dimitri’s brow creases in concentration, his hand gravitating to his chin as his eye darts around at the options behind the glass. It’s not long before Sylvain is laughing once more. “Just give us a whole cheese pie with some garlic knots, Alois.”

“Ah!” Dimitri looks up, as if he were just caught in a trance.

Alois nods with a smile and slides the wooden pizza peel under a nice, greasy cheese pie and tosses it into the oven. “You boys have a seat and I’ll bring it right over.”

Sylvain grabs Dimitri’s hand, pulling him from the counter towards the back of the pizzeria where there are a few small tables and beaten up chairs. He picks one in the corner, getting cozy in his seat and staring at the calculated way Dimitri sits down.

“Thank you for that,” Dimitri says, avoiding Sylvain’s eyes. “Sometimes I get a little overwhelmed.”

“It’s all good, that’s what dates are for.”

Blush starts to pepper Dimitri’s cheeks, his gaze still on the edge of the small table. “Dates,” he says softly, under a laugh.

“What, you’ve never been on one?”

“Can’t say I have…”

Sylvain whistles high, leaning back in his seat until the front two legs have lifted off the ground. “That’s hard to believe.”

“Why is that?” Dimitri finally looks up, his lonely blue eye narrowed in defense.

“Cuz you’re such a catch.”

Dimitri has no response; he merely bites his lower lip and darts his eye back to staring at the grimy floor tiles.

Sylvain lets the silence settle between them. It’s a good opportunity to just look at Dimitri; he’s still wearing the same denim get-up as usual, a dark blue tank under it this time. There are delicate white scars all over his knuckles, and for the first time, Sylvain catches the gnarly scar peeking out from the edges of his eyepatch.

“Must’ve been some fight,” he says softly, letting the front chair legs hit the floor.

Dimitri looks up, slightly confused, before he reaches up to touch his eye. “Oh, um…yes…”

Alois comes by with their pizza and garlic knots, throwing down some paper plates, napkins, and a nice big side of marinara sauce.

“Enjoy, boys!”

Sylvain watches the way Dimitri’s nostrils flare up at the food before him and laughs. “You don’t have to talk about it,” Sylvain says, doling out a few slices to their plates. “I just noticed, is all…”

“It’s hard not to.” Dimitri sighs, but he accepts the pizza with a nod of thanks and digs in.

Their meal remains fairly silent, save for Sylvain shouting out at Alois about how good the pie is and throwing some cheesy one liners Dimitri’s way to get him to smile. It works more times than it doesn’t, but Sylvain can tell he hit a sore spot with the eyepatch.

Should’ve known better.

“Thanks for the meal, Alois,” Sylvain says at the counter when they’re finished, slamming down a twenty and some change.

Alois’ eyes bulge out and he smirks. “Glad to see you’re doing well, Sylvain. Don’t be a stranger!”

“I’ll never be as strange as you, pal.”

Alois roars and his laughter follows the pair as they step out into the chilly night air.

Dimitri stares up at the sky, seemingly lost in thought, before Sylvain nudges him with his elbow. “You got a long train ride back?”

“Hm? What?”

Sylvain’s having a hard time containing his laughter tonight, but that’s how he can tell he really likes this guy. “Where do you live? If it’s too long of a ride back, you can stay at my place.”

“Oh!” That bright blue eye widens, sparkling among the dim glow of the streetlights. “Ah, I suppose I wouldn’t mind…”

“Good,” Sylvain says, grabbing Dimitri’s hand and pulling him towards his apartment building.

Once they’re inside, Sylvain pushes Dimitri up against the wall, sealing his lips with his own and licking up the taste of garlic on his tongue. Dimitri seems to melt against him, wrapping his arms around Sylvain and pulling him in close; pizza seems to be the secret to get this guy loose.

Unlike his last rescue of Sylvain, Dimitri doesn’t pull away. Instead, he grips at Sylvain’s shirt, pulling it up as he hungrily eats up the kiss.

Sylvain nips at Dimitri’s lip, pulling back for just a moment to appreciate the haze filling his eye. “You must have really liked that pizza.”

Dimitri nods, and Sylvain feels like it’s because he’s at a loss of how to respond.

With a squeeze of his hand, Sylvain leads him up the staircase until they stop at Sylvain’s door, and Dimitri is upon him once more, tongue diving deep. Sylvain laughs, his hand just barely making it into the doorknob, and together, they collapse into the apartment, the door slamming behind them as they fall into a heap on the floor.

“You…I didn’t realize you liked me this much.” Sylvain’s laughing, back flat on the ground, and brushing back Dimitri’s hair to get a better look at the flush invading his face.

Dimitri breathes out a laugh, biting his lip and sitting up over Sylvain. “I…just appreciate the privacy, is all.”

“Yeah,” Sylvain says, sitting up and cradling Dimitri’s cheek in his palm. “I get that.”

Dimitri looks up, a small smile spreading across his lips as he takes in the apartment. “So this is your place.”

Shaking his head, Sylvain stands up, reaching out a hand to help Dimitri get to his feet. “Yup. Utter piece of shit, but at least it’s a roof over my head.”

Dimitri makes his way to the bed, letting his fingers glide over the fabric of the sheets. “Not at all. It’s homey and warm, much nicer than…”

He stops, hanging his head low, his fingers shaking as they clutch the sheets.

Sylvain walks over and takes his hand, giving it an affirming squeeze and tilting his chin up. “Seems like my angel needs some protecting as well.”

Dimitri laughs, but keeps his head down, eye cast low. “If only you knew.”

“Then tell me.” Sylvain keeps his voice low, but his lips close, hovering mere inches from Dimitri’s ear. He wants him so badly, could tear off his clothes and throw him upon the bed, but he’s taking in the signals; he’ll have to take it slow.

Dimitri just closes his eye and leans into the touch. He’s silent, and Sylvain takes that sign as well, tilting up his chin and kissing him.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to.”

“Good.” Dimitri grabs Sylvain’s hair, tugging him in for a kiss as they both topple onto the bed. They’re a mess of limbs, two man far too big to fit within the meager size of Sylvain’s bed, but they make do, slowly peeling off layers of clothing and exploring inches of new territory.

Dimitri’s body is covered in more scars than Sylvain was prepared to see, but even Dimitri’s hands hover over old memories on Sylvain’s skin.

“What happened here?”

He’s leaning in close, inspecting a scar on Sylvain’s hip; it’s all Sylvain can do not to grab Dimitri’s head and pull it into his lap.

“My brother,” he says, trying not to flinch at the memory. “Back when we were kids. Pushed me down the stairs and I landed on some stupid statue thing. Hurt like hell. Not enough for him though.”

Dimitri keeps his fingers hovering over the scar, his eye flitting up. “That’s awful.”

Sylvain shrugs, leaning back and twirling a strand of blond hair around his finger. “He’s done worse. I mean, check out all those guys he sends to beat me up that you take care of in an instant.”

Dimitri just nods, staring at the scar on Sylvain’s hip.

“How is it that you always know where to find me when I get into trouble, huh?”

Sylvain’s question hangs in the air and he swears Dimitri has frozen himself in time. It takes a few moments before the other man crawls up to press his nose to Sylvain’s, narrowing his eye and brushing their lips together. He doesn’t answer, just swallows Sylvain’s words in a kiss. And for all his curiosity, Sylvain doesn’t mind how the guy dodges his questions.

This will do for now.

Dimitri is huge, and it’s more than just the broad expanse of his back and shoulders; the guy is packing, but he’s incredibly needy and lets Sylvain take the lead, exploring his body with lips and teeth and tongue.

Sylvain wants to ask about all of his scars, but knows what the response will be. For tonight, he’ll settle on cries of pleasure. He lets his hands roam, keeping Dimitri in his lap as he follows the dips and curves of Dimitri’s lower back and ass. He wants so much all at once, but knows how to savor each bite.

Dimitri whines as Sylvain’s hands travel lower, bucking his hips against Sylvain. The front of his briefs are wet, the head of his cock peeking up over the edge of the fabric.

“Let’s get these off of you,” Sylvain hums, nibbling at Dimitri’s ear and tugging at it.

Dimitri nods, his fingers digging deep into the skin on Sylvain’s shoulders.

Sylvain can’t help but laugh; this big guy with such a tough demeanor is so delicate in bed, and Sylvain just eats it up. He hooks his fingers into the waistband and slides Dimitri’s briefs down his legs, letting them hang at one of his ankles as Sylvain grabs Dimitri’s massive cock in his hand.

“You’re so hot,” Sylvain teases, his finger ghosting over Dimitri’s hole. “Wanna fuck you senseless.”

“P-please,” Dimitri cries out, thrusting erratically into Sylvain’s hand.

It’s all too much for Sylvain to handle; he lets his hand dance up Dimitri’s spine to pull at his hair, bringing him into a kiss and pushing him down against the mattress. His cock is slick and throbbing in Sylvain’s hand, making it all the easier to get the blond into a loose mood.

Nipping at Dimitri’s lip, he reaches over to his night stand, jerking open the drawer to pull out a bottle of lube and a condom. His own cock is pulsing with need, but he wants Dimitri to be good and ready to take him.

He sits up on his knees, gazing at the way Dimitri’s splayed out on his bed, eye hazy with want and chest heaving with stuttered breaths. Sylvain hums, tearing open the condom wrapper with his teeth and running his hand over his cock.

“Bet you drive all the guys crazy like this,” Sylvain purrs, jerking himself into the condom before uncapping the lube bottle and drenching his fingers.

Dimitri huffs, looking off to the side, the blush on his cheeks reaching down to his chest. “N-no, actually.”

“Shit, you’re a virgin?”

He shuts his eye tight, nodding as if embarrassed by this leak of information.

Sylvain chuckles beneath his breath, leaning over to kiss Dimitri’s brow as his fingers slip back between Dimitri’s cheeks.

“It’s alright,” Sylvain purrs, kissing down Dimitri’s cheek to his jaw, meeting him back at his lips as he rubs his fingers along the pucker of Dimitri’s hole. “I’ll treat you real good.”

Dimitri returns his gaze to Sylvain’s, lacing his fingers behind Sylvain’s neck. “I don’t doubt that you would.”

Sylvain moans at just those words and tests one finger in Dimitri’s hole, letting the moments pass until the flutter around his digit grows more relaxed. He curls it inside, waiting to hear Dimitri whimper before he slips a second one in, returning his other hand to jerk off Dimitri’s cock.

Dimitri still has a hold around Sylvain’s neck, bringing him close as his body writhes to the new sensations he’s experiencing.

Sylvain just wants to watch, convinced he could come just at the spectacle that is this man. There’s something so familiar about him and yet so uncharted. He continues to rub and glide inside Dimitri until he hits that spot that makes Dimitri’s eye nearly bulge out of his head and he laughs.

“There we go,” Sylvain says, easing off and focusing on spreading Dimitri wide.

Dimitri spreads his legs immediately as he rocks his hips over Sylvain’s fingers. Deeper and deeper, he coaxes Sylvain for more.

Sylvain smirks; it’s been a while since he’s enjoyed a lay this much. His heart thumps in his chest at the thought that this could be the start of something more. With a hopeful chuckle, he leans down, brushing over Dimitri’s warm cock with his own, and kisses Dimitri’s forehead right above his eyepatch.

“Take it easy, champ.”

Dimitri’s mouth is open, like a fish gasping for its final breath. He nods, hands flying from Sylvain’s neck to grip at the sheets, but Sylvain coaxes his fingers out of the fabric, holding tight as he lines his cock up against Dimitri’s hole.

He slips his fingers out, gently pressing the head of his cock against the tight recoil of Dimitri’s hole, but he hums as the warmth flows through the thin layer of his condom. He reaches for Dimitri’s other hand and he has the other man pinned to the sheets, squirming with uneasy need. Once he pushes in, he hushes Dimitri’s cries with a kiss, easing in as he lets his tongue soothe away Dimitri’s anxiety.

It works too perfectly; Dimitri opens up for him, kissing back ravenously as Sylvain pushes further in, rocking back with each thrust until he can feel Dimitri’s whimpers on his tongue.

Soon, he can feel Dimitri clench around him and it brings him one moment close to release. He moans out of the kiss, a thin line of spit connecting their lips as he gazes over the hazy glow of Dimitri’s face. It only makes him increase his rhythm, only stuttering at the tight heat closing around his dick.

Dimitri trembles, one too many hits to his prostate, and spills between them.

“Sylvain!!”

His name has never sounded so sweet, Dimitri’s fingers gripping tight as he rides out his orgasm without even being touched.

“That’s my name,” he says with a stupid smirk, thrusting harder and deeper until he bottoms out, the white hot rush of release spewing stars behind his eyelids.

He collapses onto Dimitri and tries to match his breathing, listening to his heart beat slow into an easy pace.

Sylvain glances up; Dimitri is spent, his eye fluttering closed as his limp form melts into the mattress.

“Rest easy, babe.”

Sylvain inches up to kiss Dimitri on this chin and settles against his chest, snuggling softly into Dimitri’s tired arms and letting his eyes slip closed. That nostalgic pang from earlier flashes in the back of his head, but it’s soft, easy on his mind. Enough to slip Sylvain into the most peaceful sleep he’s had in years.

| _stronger and harder than a bad girl’s dream_ |

Sylvain wakes up to the sunlight streaming in through busted blinds, making his eyes flutter open to the sight of Dimitri wrapped snugly in his arms. It’s a shock that his nightly guest is still in his apartment, let alone in bed with him. Sylvain has grown too accustomed to waking up to the sound of his door slamming and footsteps rushing down the hallway stairs.

He sighs, smiling at the little bit of drool dangling from Dimitri’s bottom lip. Sylvain wants equal parts to lick it up and continue staring at it as little breaths move the droplet up and down the curve of Dimitri’s plump lips.

Sylvain could stay like this all day, honestly. No obligation could be more important than taking in the sight of his guardian angel, alive and in the flesh.

Very much in the flesh.

Sylvain thinks back to their previous night, how the pleasure had knocked Dimitri unconscious with nothing but a dopey smile on his lips. Sylvain didn’t mind the solo clean up; every glance towards his bed was a welcome sight of Dimitri tangling himself deeper into the sheets.

A light mumble escapes Dimitri’s lips, but the man is still fast asleep. So Sylvain figures the best way to lull him back to the land of the living is with some fresh breakfast.

Sylvain’s sure he has some eggs left in the fridge, and honestly, he only needs a few to whip up a quick batch of scrambled eggs. He sets up the coffee machine with a fresh pot and gets to work; he’s never been this excited to make breakfast for one of his lays. To be frank, he’s never really had the opportunity.

It’s when the butter is sizzling on the pan that Dimitri groans back to life, sitting up on the bed and taking in his surroundings.

“Morning, Angel,” Sylvain says with a wink, looking over his shoulder briefly before turning back to pour the eggs into the pan.

“I told you to stop it with that nickname.” Dimitri sounds groggy and not at all the morning person Sylvain is. Which is fine. Sylvain knows a few tricks to get Dimitri’s blood pumping.

He returns his attention to the eggs in the pan, watching as they slowly take form before he whips them into the perfect scrambled mess. “I guess you’re right. Especially since I took your innocence away last night.”

Dimitri nearly chokes, covering his little lapse of embarrassment with some carefully curated coughs. “A-ah, you, um…”

Sylvain just laughs; _how is this guy so fucking cute?_

“Too bad I already like that name for you.”

Before Dimitri can open up his mouth for a response, Sylvain is already bringing over a plate of eggs. He lays a quick kiss on Dimitri’s cheek and walks back into the kitchen.

“But I’ll stop if it bothers you so much,” he says, getting his own plate together. “Careful with those eggs. I don’t normally allow eating in my bed, but you’re an exception.”

Dimitri raises his brow, a ghost of a smirk on his lips. “Is that so?”

“Well, _this_ kind of eating.”

Dimitri blushes, but attempts to brush it off with a laugh.

“Dig in, babe.”

Sylvain leans against the counter, taking his first bite of buttery eggs and closing his eyes; something about a good breakfast after a good lay just puts him in the right frame of mind.

“Where are you going to sit?” Dimitri stares up at Sylvain, brow bent in concern; he hasn’t touched his eggs yet, the fork still suspended in his hand.

Sylvain shakes his head, but continues eating. “I usually eat standing up.” He glances around the apartment and shrugs. “Don’t really have any chairs other than that busted up couch. It’s all good, don’t worry about me.”

That eye looks straight at Sylvain, as if looking right through him, but there’s a playfulness to Dimitri’s smile that Sylvain finds just as captivating. “You know, me worrying about you is how we got here in the first place.”

_Ain’t that the truth._

“Shut up and eat your eggs.”

It’s odd watching Dimitri eat, and Sylvain noticed it last night as well; he seems to just go through the motions without reacting or even acknowledging the food. He simply chews and swallows; no indication that it’s the best plate of eggs he’s ever had or the lousiest pile of garbage to ever enter his mouth.

And he’s quiet the whole way through.

He cleans his plate and looks up at Sylvain after his final swallow. “Thank you. I…”

“No problem, babe.” Sylvain walks over to grab his plate, but Dimitri doesn’t let him go to far, grabbing at his wrist and pulling him back.

“Would it be…too much trouble to use your shower?”

Sylvain chuckles tilting his head to the side and admiring the curl of Dimitri’s lips as he asks such a benign request. “Go for it. Might not be that pleasant, though. They shut off my hot water the other day. Forgot to pay that bill. Again.”

“That’s alright,” Dimitri says, and a blush starts to creep up to his ears. He looks up at Sylvain, eye heavily lidded. “I’m sure you’ll be able to keep me warm.”

* * *

The water is cold enough to put any erection to bed, but fortunately Dimitri is hot enough to melt that shit away. The shower is almost too small for the two of them, but Sylvain solves that problem by pressing Dimitri up against the glass, his back to Sylvain as he huffs and moans to kisses and touches.

Sylvain can’t get enough to the curves of Dimitri’s muscles, marveling at the shallow dips of his abs, his hands roaming every inch imaginable.

Save for one spot.

The moment Sylvain’s hands venture too close to the eyepatch, Dimitri recoils, his whole body tensing up as if he has remembered they’re taking a _cold_ shower.

“My bad,” Sylvain whispers into his ear, gently tugging at Dimitri’s ear lobe. “I just thought it would irritate your eye if it got wet.”

“O-oh,” Dimitri says in a shudder, falling back into Sylvain’s chest.

“You don’t have to show me. We can stay like this.”

Dimitri merely nods, carefully slipping off the eyepatch and reaching out of the shower to place it on the edge of the sink.

Sylvain is so eager to touch, to see, to let Dimitri tear down all his walls before him; he’s already shown Sylvain so much already. But he can still feel the anxiety well up beneath Dimitri’s skin, so he instead closes his eyes and keeps his lips upon the back of Dimitri’s neck, opposite the bad eye. Trust is important; Sylvain knows that better than most people.

They continue their shower, Dimitri attempting to wash out his hair as Sylvain’s hands resume their roaming, drifting lower and lower to territory already claimed.

“Did that keep you warm enough?” Sylvain smirks as he shuts off the water, letting Dimitri take the lead out of the shower to make his eye decent first.

“Ah, yes,” he says, still keeping his back to Sylvain as he grabs a small towel to dry off his hair, only turning once his eyepatch is back on.

“Good.” Sylvain leans over, stealing a kiss from his lips as well as the towel from his hands.

It doesn’t take long for Sylvain to dry himself off and he hangs the towel before Dimitri can grab it again, ushering the man out of the bathroom and escorting him back to the bed.

“Should we…?”

“Get dressed? Nah,” Sylvain says, nuzzling his face in the crook of Dimitri’s neck. “I wanna cuddle some more.”

“You really are something.”

There’s a smile on Dimitri’s face, softer than any expression he has shown Sylvain so far, and he can’t help but devour it. Any bit of his walls crumbling down is a good sign for Sylvain.

Eventually, he gets out of bed to pour each of them a cup of coffee, the fresh pot he made earlier sitting neglected on the counter. It’s another thing he usually forbids on his bed, but Dimitri is worth the sacrifice; just staring at his chiseled form entangled in the sheets is enough for Sylvain to forgo all his rules.

“So how long have you been in this city?”

Dimitri takes a thoughtful sip of his coffee, his brow scrunching up as he thinks. “A few years, now. I ended up here after getting kicked out of boarding school. No home to return to.”

With a high whistle, Sylvain smirks. “Former rich boy, huh? So what got you kicked out?”

Dimitri rolls his eyes, but his smile lingers. “Fights. Starting them, finishing them.” Dimitri’s tone suddenly turns dark as he looks down into his mug, his still damp hair hiding his eye. “Sending a few kids to the hospital.”

“Damn! Not surprised, though, what with the way you take care of Miklan’s thugs.”

Dimitri attempts a smile, but Sylvain can see how forced it is. “I’m not proud of it.” His voice sounds pained.

Sylvain just shrugs, swirling his mug until the cream mixes back in with the subpar coffee. “Yeah, but that’s why we leave that shit behind us.”

“What about you?” Dimitri’s looking back up, now, his sad eye boring straight into Sylvain.

Sylvain just shrugs, swirling the contents of his mug one more time before taking another sip. “Flunked out of college, more so or less. Turns out sleeping with your professor won’t bump your grade up enough to pass.”

“Was it on the syllabus?”

Sylvain could almost punch him, but he doesn’t. “Cheeky bastard.”

“I’m just asking!”

Dimitri’s laughing now, the darkness from earlier having ebbed into his current mirth.

Sylvain gravitates towards his lips, the gentle sheen from the coffee and the curve of his smile drawing him in. He’s addicted, and for the first time he’s thankful he feels this way towards a person and not a narcotic substance. They kiss, long and slow, and Sylvain can feel his pleasure build once more before Dimitri presses a firm hand to his chest.

“I…should get going.”

Sylvain pushes out his lower lip in a sickening pout. “Aw, babe, we’re still having so much fun.”

There’s a low giggle that escapes from Dimitri’s lips and Sylvain tries to catch them one more time, but Dimitri is already out of bed. He walks his unfinished mug to the kitchen and starts to pick up his clothing strewn about the floor.

Sylvain just stares; skin gliding over muscles, fabric fluttering over flesh. “When will I see you again?”

Dimitri zips up his jeans and sways back towards the bed, cradling Sylvain’s chin in his hand. “I have your number, now, so you don’t have to get in trouble just to find me.”

“Aw, you’re sweet.”

Dimitri kisses him, his lips lingering for just a moment as they part. “Thank you. For last night, this morning…”

“Anything for you.”

Dimitri shakes his head, but that smile never leaves his lips. “Take care, Sylvain.”

The moment he walks out of the door, Sylvain runs to his phone, pressing the keys in a series of chaotic clicks and waiting as the line rings incessantly.

“Hello?” Dorothea sounds annoyed on the other end of the line, but Sylvain just melts into his busted up couch.

“Oh, Dottie, you’ll never guess who got laid last night!”

“Sylvain, I’m running late for an audition, is this really that important?”

“Not only does my angel have wings but he’s got a killer body and my name sounds so good on his lips!”

“Wow,” and Dorothea actually sounds stunned, “so you’ve slept with him already.”

“And I can’t wait to do it again.”

Dorothea laughs, though it’s strained. “Listen, Sylvain, let me call you when I get back and you can fill me in on all the gory details.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I will. Break a leg!”

“Thanks.”

The conversation ends with a click and Sylvain rests the phone on his shoulder, the monotonous tone of the line drowned out by his own thoughts:

He’s in deep, he knows it.

Because he has a feeling that Dimitri is his key out of this shit hole called his life.

| _a little voice inside my head said don't look back, you can never look back_ |

Sylvain feels brave today, brave enough for a trip down to Albrecht’s for Ms. Nuvelle.

“And this time, bring me my groceries from the _correct_ shop.”

The words echo in Sylvain’s head as he thinks back to the last time he headed down to Astor Place to deliver the old woman’s letter and get her groceries; she noticed the difference of the milk bottle. How, Sylvain will never know, but he got an earful about staying true to his word. She calmed down when he had mentioned that he _did_ go to Albrecht’s, just got sidetracked and it cost him some groceries. She had continued to scold him, but offered a smile and an extra 20 dollar bill as a tip.

Today, he’ll make it back with the correct groceries, no problem. He’s convinced. And it has nothing to do with the new spring in his step after getting Dimitri in his bed.

Alright.

It has _everything_ to do with that. Sylvain feels invincible; he’s got a hot guy keeping an eye on him who’s got a killer body and an intoxicating moan. He’ll run down to Astor Place to get Ms. Nuvelle’s groceries and be back in time for his pizza delivery gig later that night.

As he runs up the stairs out of the subway station, he rounds the corner and sees the sign for Mr. Albrecht’s shop up ahead. So close, just a few more steps and another block away.

And suddenly, Sylvain finds himself running into a wall of thugs. Not just one, but a handful of them. All of them wearing jackets with the fire shaped badge stitched onto the sleeve. Crowds of people back away and whisper as they stare Sylvain down; why are they even out in broad daylight?

“What are the chances?” One laughs as he takes a drag on his cigarette.

“The boss has been looking for you, pretty boy.” The largest of the bunch grabs Sylvain before he has the chance to run off. They drag him down an alley, place a cloth over his head, and punch him once in the stomach before his vision goes entirely black.

* * *

A splash of cold water shocks Sylvain to consciousness. His hands are tied back behind him as he sits in a rusted metal chair, a light shining right into his eyes.

“What the fuck?”

“Shut up,” a familiar, groggy voice croaks from ahead.

Sylvain takes a deep breath as he lowers his vision out of the shock of the lamp, spotting Miklan seated in front of him as his eyes grow used to the lack of light in the rest of the room.

“What did I do now?” Sylvain doesn’t want to be here, doesn’t want to have to smell the dingy stank of whatever warehouse his brother is using for his operations this week. He doesn’t want to look at whatever whores he’s got on his arms, only fucking him for the money and the drugs.

But Sylvain doesn’t get many choices in his life.

Not anymore.

Miklan laughs, his hands sorting through piles of money on the desk in front of him; it’s always about showing off his power.

“You didn’t do anything different, baby brother,” he says in a deep laugh. “You owe me. Plain and simple. And I’m fucking tired of waiting.”

“How do you expect me to pay you back when you send thugs to rob me when I’ve got nothing!”

“Shut the fuck up!” Miklan’s voice echoes in the large room; he’s standing now, his palms flat on the desk. One of the women at his side shifts uncomfortably. “I didn’t ask for a sob story, _Sylvie_! I asked for my fucking money!”

“Well I don’t fucking have it, do I?!”

Miklan’s laugh rumbles low, hitting Sylvain in all the wrong places.

“I guess you don’t,” he says softly, walking around the table and inching closer to Sylvain until his face is illuminated by the light. That stupid scar cuts across his face and Sylvain wonders what bullshit story Miklan made up about it to tell his gang not to fuck with him. “So how are you gonna get the rest of that money to me?”

Sylvain shivers in his seat; he wants to spit right in Miklan’s face, but he also wants to be able to breathe for the rest of the night.

“Whoring off that body of yours always got you some big bucks, huh? Why not do that again?”

Sylvain doesn’t answer; he had considered it, but he’d rather for Miklan to drop dead than wait around street corners for hedge-fund douchebags to fuck his asshole raw for a night.

After enough silence, Miklan grits his teeth and slaps Sylvain hard across the face. It’s enough to rattle his teeth, the cold metal of the many rings on his hand branding Sylvain’s cheek.

“One week. You’ve got one week to pay off that debt before I throw you to the wolves here. And they’ll tear you apart, you little fuck! Now get the hell out of my sight.”

Miklan kicks the chair, sending it and Sylvain tumbling over to the concrete floor as he walks back to the other side of his desk.

Suddenly, another crowd of thugs hover around Sylvain to cover his head, undo the cuffs on his wrists, and beat him senseless as he’s dragged out of the warehouse.

* * *

By the time Sylvain’s back out on the streets, it’s already night time.

Great. Not only did he fuck up the favor for Ms. Nuvelle, but he’s late for his delivery gig.

He’s also bleeding profusely down the side of his face and it feels like a few of his ribs are broken. He’s not entirely sure, but it sure feels like it as he writhes along the sidewalk.

People walk around him, not even bothering to bat an eye or offer him any help.

“Fuck this city,” he coughs up, and he can feel a trickle of blood down his chin.

He tries to get up, one hand on the brick building beside him, the other clutched around his stomach. Definitely a broken rib in there somewhere. Sylvain stumbles over his next few steps before he’s back on the ground, curled up in a ball. He’s not even sure what part of the city he’s in; downtown probably. That explains why no one’s bothering to help him out; Wall Street big shots don’t give a fuck about the broken and destitute, just their gains. Just like his dad.

Just like his brother.

“Fuckers,” he groans as he shuffles into an alleyway.

Leaning against the wall, he slides down, every inch of his body screaming in pain until his ass falls to the ground below. It’s met with a splash and a slimy wet starts to fill his pants.

Fucking perfect.

Things were going so well, too. Sylvain knows better than to get his hopes up.

He groans, flopping onto his side and curling into a ball beside a trash can. What a nice, comfortable sleeping arrangement he found for himself for the night. He bites his lip and holds back a tear as his eyes flutter closed, but a splash of water at the edge of the alley catches his attention, as well as the voice that fills in the small space.

“Sylvain?!”

He attempts a smile as he glances up at Dimitri; beautiful Dimitri. There’s a neon glow of red and yellow behind his head, a grungetastic halo for his brawny angel. He opens his mouth, ready to spit out a cheesy one liner, but all that comes out is blood in a series of coughs.

“Shit,” Dimitri curses, running to his side and brushing away the hair that’s sticking to his forehead. “What happened?”

“Family reunion,” he manages to croak out, but he can hardly move.

Not that it matters; within seconds, Dimitri has him in his arms, clutching him tight to that muscle ridden chest. Sylvain wants to lean his head against it, but he doesn’t want to stain Dimitri’s denim with blood; it looks too good on him and Sylvain doesn’t want to ruin that image.

“Don’t,” he starts pathetically, coughing up more blood, “don’t take me to a hospital. Fucking hate those places.”

“Don’t worry,” Dimitri whispers, “I’ve got you.” He places a kiss on Sylvain’s temple as he runs down the city streets, dodging groups of drunk club-goers and drifters trying to make a buck on their last gram of coke.

The lights of the party scene die down and Sylvain can see the hazy glow of the night sky behind high buildings; they look abandoned and Sylvain wonders where Dimitri is taking him.

“Welcome back, Didi,” a woman’s voice says as they slip into a building. She sounds undisturbed by the package in Dimitri’s arms. Sylvain would wave, but that would mean a part of his body leaving Dimitri’s hold. And he won’t do that.

“Hapi, can you clear some space for him? He needs medical attention.” There’s an urgency in Dimitri’s voice that makes Sylvain’s heart leap in his chest, but even that hurts as he begins a new round of blood laden coughs.

“You’ve got it. I’ll get the kit.”

Soon, Sylvain leaves the warmth of Dimitri’s arms and he whines in his throat.

“They got you bad this time,” Dimitri says, his brow curved in worry. The woman, Hapi, returns with a pair of scissors and immediately, Dimitri takes them to cut up the front of Sylvain’s shirt.

“B-babe, you know you…don’t have to do that to get me naked, right?”

The woman stares down from above Dimitri, her eyes hazy. “You didn’t tell me he was an idiot.”

“Not right now, Hapi.”

She shrugs but takes a seat beside Dimitri, rummaging through a plastic white box; the edges are beat up, but from the corner of his eye, Sylvain can see it’s well stocked with first aid supplies.

The rest of the evening is almost a blur to Sylvain as Dimitri continues to tend to his wounds and clean him up as best he can; Sylvain screams through some of it, but Dimitri is right there to offer comforting words and a few kisses to a his brow.

Hapi attempts to crack a joke every few minutes, but Dimitri either ignores her or rolls his eye.

Once he’s finished, Sylvain frowns at the amount of blood covering Dimitri’s clothes.

“I didn’t want to ruin your jacket,” Sylvain slurs, reaching out a shaking hand to touch the edge of the denim.

“And I didn’t want to see you die.” Dimitri leans over, placing a slow, gentle kiss at the corner of Sylvain’s mouth before he gets up. “I’m gonna wash off. Hapi, can you bring over some blankets for him?”

His angel leaves his line of sight, giving Sylvain the chance to observe his surroundings. The place is…a dump. He can’t tell if it’s an abandoned warehouse or factory, but there are cobwebs on the rusted beams above. He lets his head fall to the side and can see a swarm of people bumming along the edges of the room, covered in blankets and tattered jackets.

Hapi returns and drapes a moth-eaten blanket over Sylvain. She pats him on the head, none too gently, and looks off to a corner of the room. “I’ve never seen him so worried,” she says, a slight lilt in her voice. “You must mean a lot to him.”

Sylvain smiles, but he can’t get a response out; whether from the pain of the evening or the euphoria of having Dimitri tend to him, he loses consciousness one more time for the night.

| _take these broken wings, and learn to fly again, and learn to live so free_ |

Sylvain is sore when he wakes up, the constant trickle of water falling into a nearby puddle lulling him out of a stiff sleep. His eyelids are heavy as he opens them, the view above nothing more than rusted beams and birds fluttering between them.

And, of course, Hapi.

Her messy red hair hangs around her face as she tilts her head, studying Sylvain like an experiment.

“Morning?” Sylvain is surprised he still has a voice, considering all the blood he coughed up last night.

“Huh, still alive. Didi will be happy to hear that.” She leaves Sylvain’s line of sight, sitting beside him to flit around with something noisy.

“Why do you call him that?” Sylvain struggles to sit up, his whole body aching as he rests back on his elbow.

“Why don’t you?” Hapi merely shrugs, her hands still rummaging through the first aid kit at her knees before she produces a bottle of pain killers. “Breakfast?”

“Cute,” Sylvain says deadpan. He glances around the open expanse of the room, heaps of blankets stirring as dirty sunlight streams in through smudged windows, high by the ceiling. “What is this place exactly?”

“A refuge,” Hapi says as she pops off the bottle’s lid and spills a few small pills into her palm. “The Mockingbird started it a few years ago.”

“The Mockingbird?”

Hapi winks, handing over a few of the pills to Sylvain with a glass of water. It’s filthy, all smudged down the side, but one glance inside tells him that at least the water is clean; he’ll just sip it without touching his lips to the glass. That won’t be difficult.

“You’re too new to learn his name, but I’m sure he’ll give it to you in time.”

Hapi is…odd. But there’s a warmth to her all the same and Sylvain is content that she’s here to give him pain meds the moment he wakes up. He takes two, careful to pocket the others for later; he’s all too familiar with the feeling of having too many of those bad boys at once, and in his current state, breaking sobriety is not the best of ideas, despite the pull of temptation in the back of his mind.

“Where is Dimitri anyway?” Out of all the heaps of bums in the room, Dimitri is nowhere to be seen.

“Out,” Hapi responds shortly. “But he’ll be back. Especially if you’re here.” There’s a smirk on her lips and Sylvain can’t help but blush.

“That’s reassuring.”

“He really likes you,” she says, as if not recognizing that he was just talking to her. “I can tell because he barely speaks to anyone, keeps to himself a lot, and then he brings you in, his face all tender.” She looks up, her hazel eyes dreamy. “Must be nice.”

It is, but Sylvain’s too dumbstruck to admit it.

“He’s always watching out for me. Wish I had him a few years ago when I made all those stupid mistakes back in school.” He laughs, a distant memory crossing his mind. If he can even call it that. “I used to have a friend like him, way back when. Or maybe he was just an imaginary friend, who knows.”

Hapi raises her brow, leaning back on her palms. “That’s…weird.”

Sylvain just laughs, running his hand along the back of his head, his finger glossing over an old scar, its origin still a mystery to him. “I guess it is. I feel like I made this kid up because none of my other friends back home talked about him. One day, he just vanished. No word about what happened to him and I…”

He lowers his head. He hasn’t talked about this kid in years, let alone thought about him. But Dimitri brings back those memories, of a warm smile, bright blue eyes shining, beckoning Sylvain to better times. He disappeared from existence, and trying to remember him feels like a punch to the face. Sylvain feels the sting each time he attempts to remember or even make sense of it.

“I feel like…everything changed when I woke up from that coma.”

Hapi stops swaying in her spot, bringing her knees to her chest and hugging them, but she’s listening and that’s what Sylvain needs right now.

“Everyone became more distant, and…”

He sighs; a few weeks of his life taken from him, but it feels like so much more. Felix and Ingrid became so short with him, and he didn’t try to settle the growing rift. Why bother? Drugs and sex did a better job at making him feel better, of making the memories fuzzier.

“Don’t even know what got me there, but fuck if it didn’t change my life.”

Hapi is silent before she shuts the first aid kit and stands up. “You’re strange,” she says, walking away. “But I can see why Didi likes you…”

The corner of Sylvain’s lip curves up in a smirk, the warmth in his chest more than just the pills hitting his blood stream. He sits up in his heap for some time, observing the bums around him and realizing that some of them are children; there are _families_ here. Hapi isn’t kidding when she says it’s a refuge.

Sylvain is lost in thought when Dimitri comes into view, kneeling in front of him before Sylvain can register that he’s in the room.

“You’re awake?” He has his hands on Sylvain’s face, twisting it about to inspect every inch of him.

“Y-yeah, Hapi gave me some pills, I’m fine.”

Dimitri sighs, closing his eye and resting his forehead against Sylvain’s. “You don’t realize how bad you looked last night.” Dimitri keeps his voice low, but it’s quivering.

Sylvain reaches out, holding Dimitri close. “It felt pretty shitty.”

He takes in Dimitri’s musk, holding him even closer before the other man shudders out of his hold, glancing over his shoulder. “Ah, um…”

“Oh, that’s right,” Sylvain smirks, keeping a hand gripped tight on Dimitri’s. “You’re a guy who likes his privacy.”

“It’s just that…”

“Then how about,” Sylvain starts, keeping his voice just above a whisper, “you show me some of your favorite little hideouts throughout this place, huh?”

“I don’t think you’re well enough for that, pal.”

Sylvain’s head darts up to the new voice coming from above Dimitri. There’s a man, his body decked out in tight leather, showcasing every curve and bump on his body, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. He’s wearing an obscene amount of makeup, like a glam metal band reject; it’s truly something that his bright violet hair isn’t the first thing Sylvain notices about him.

“Have I seen you before?”

The man raises a brow, a sly smirk on his pink lips. “Doubt it.”

Sylvain returns that smirk, leaning back but keeping his hand on Dimitri. “Nah, I can swear I’ve seen you at the drag bar up in the Meatpacking District. You know, the one on…”

The guy’s expression falls. “Okay, so maybe you have.”

Dimitri shuffles to his feet, keeping his head low; Sylvain’s not sure if it’s out of respect or because Dimitri just towers over him. “I’m sorry, Mockingbird, I didn’t…”

He waves a hand, his nails tipped with dark purple. “No need for the code name, this guy’s prime real estate.”

“Rude.”

The Mockingbird. Hapi mentioned him, the aforementioned leader of this dingy refuge. Sylvain expected him to be older and a little more modest in his dress. But Sylvain’s not one to complain when he’s been allowed in such a sacred space.

“Yuri,” he says, extending out a slender hand. “These are my people. Most of them are here because of _your_ brother.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised,” Sylvain says, reaching his hand out as far as it can go while still sitting; even he’s not sure how long he can last on his legs in this state. “Guess I don’t need an introduction.”

“Not really.”

Yuri’s hand shake is firm and Sylvain’s curious of what else it can do.

“King, why don’t you fetch your little lover boy something to eat that isn’t, ya know, pills?”

Dimitri’s face scrunches up, but he nods and turns off to leave Sylvain to Yuri’s devices.

“He doesn’t like the nickname I gave him, either.”

Yuri laughs before settling down in a crouch on the floor beside Sylvain. He bounces on his feet, soft purple strands dancing around his face. “He’s got this real regal air about him. And have you seen how he’s built?”

Sylvain opens his mouth for a response…

“Of course you have, he told me all about it.”

“O-oh?”

Yuri smirks again, resting a hand along his jaw. “What I’m really interested in is your brother…” His look turns dark as he tilts his head closer to Sylvain.

“What, you want to fuck him? Join his gang?”

“God, no!” Yuri nearly spits. “He’s a scourge upon this city. Like I said, most of the people I’ve taken in have been screwed over by him, including yours truly.”

Sylvain tries not to think about the ways Miklan has screwed over Yuri, whether literally or figuratively.

“He takes advantage of people for his own benefit and screws them over until they’ve lost everything.”

Sylvain shrugs, settling back on his palms. “Yeah, that’s putting it lightly.”

“So I’ve got an idea, because I’m tired of his thugs rounding on my people.”

Yuri’s lavender eyes sparkle with a hint a mischief.

“What do you want me to do?” Sylvain’s not into flowery words; he knows Yuri wants to use him.

“Get into trouble,” Yuri says simply. “I’ll keep the King close so he can keep you safe and another one of my guys will scope out his current location.”

Sylvain sighs, looking down at the sheer amount of bandages covering his torso. “I’m not really in the mood to get any more broken ribs.”

“I don’t mean right now.” Yuri stands, flicking back a lock of hair as he stands. “I’ll give you a few days to heal before I send you out to the wolves.”

“ ** _NO!_** ”

Sylvain barely even blinks before Dimitri is upon Yuri, hands shaking as they grip the leather of the other man’s vest.

“I told you I don’t want him doing this!”

Suddenly, there’s a gathering of bulky men surrounding them all, hardened by years of gang activity by the looks of it. Their eyes are set on Dimitri, but Sylvain’s not sure who would come out on top in a fight.

What gets him is the look in Yuri’s eyes; despite his status here, there’s a hint of fear in his eyes as he looks up at the man he refers to as “the King.”

“Hey now, buddy, I said you get to be near him. He won’t get that hurt again. I’m leaving that to you.” There’s a quiver in his voice which only makes his guard dogs take an inch closer to Dimitri.

Dimitri’s jaw tenses as he continues to glare into Yuri’s eyes.

“Didi, keep it cool,” Hapi says, suddenly appearing at his back, hands out as if she can subdue the oncoming tempest billowing inside Dimitri. “You can trust Yuri-bird, okay? He’s got his sources.”

After moments, he drops him — Sylvain didn’t even notice that Dimitri pulled him up off the floor — and sulks off to a random corner in the compound.

Yuri laughs as he brushes off the front of his vest, waving a hand to fend off his pack of guards. “Well, that went…exactly as I expected.”

Hapi shakes her head, rolling her eyes at Yuri. “If it’s not obvious by now, he really likes you, Red.”

Sylvain glances back over his shoulder; he can see Dimitri standing in a corner, nearly huddled in a ball and shaking all over. “Yeah…”

It takes a lot of energy, but Sylvain manages to get to his feet. He winces as every inch of his body screams in pain, but he needs to see Dimitri; he doesn’t like this plan, either, but Yuri seems like the weird kind of guy to have connections powerful enough to deal a heavy blow to Miklan. He can sense it.

“Hey, King,” he says in a wink.

Dimitri spins on his heel, barely allowing Sylvain to take another step before he takes him in his arms. “Sylvain, what are you doing?!”

“Checking up on you.”

Dimitri sighs, biting his lip as his head falls. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“Hey, it’s all good,” Sylvain says, brushing his fingers along Dimitri’s cheek. He smiles as the other man leans in to his touch. “Didn’t think you were this into me. For all I know, this could all be part of Yuri’s plan to get to Miklan…”

“No! Absolutely not!” Dimitri clutches Sylvain’s hand, almost a little too tight, but the look in his eye is earnest, sincere, and it fills Sylvain’s chest with a fluttering warmth.

“Kidding, just kidding.” He leans in, breathing ragged over Dimitri’s lips before the King drags him in, desperate and hungry, but his hands cradle Sylvain gently, ever aware of his wounds. Sylvain hasn’t felt this wanted in…ever, honestly. He doesn’t even know how to process it, how to prove that it’s real. But he falls into Dimitri’s kiss nonetheless; how this guy wants him so badly is a mystery, but it’ll do. For now.

Sylvain smirks out of Dimitri’s lips, resting his forehead against the other man’s, watching Dimitri’s lonely blue eye flutter in a haze. “I’ll be okay if you’re on lookout. You’ve always been there for me.”

“But the last time…”

“You still got me.” Sylvain holds his hand, tight. “In the end, you still got to me.”

Dimitri nods and he looks out past Sylvain’s shoulder. He takes a deep breath, and the two of them walk back over to Yuri, standing in the center of the expansive room with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Well?” He’s still smirking, as if the altercation with Dimitri never happened.

Sylvain winks, holding onto Dimitri for support. “I’m your man.”

Yuri’s smirk only grows wider. “Excellent.”

| _sometimes love don’t feel like it should_ |

Sylvain loves the way the heat from Dimitri’s breath makes the hair on his arms stand on end. He huffs out a moan as Dimitri rocks him up against the crumbling brick wall. It’s been a few days since his run in with Miklan, several days since his debt was given a due date. But he lets all that tension melt away as Dimitri hooks his arm under Sylvain’s knee, bringing it over his hip so he can get a better angle inside.

“H-hah, fuck that feels good,” Sylvain moans out loud as Dimitri seamlessly slides into him. It’s been a while since he’s been fucked like this, and Dimitri’s dick seemed like quite the challenge at first, but he fits so well inside Sylvain.

Dimitri’s strong enough to hold Sylvain up against the wall and fuck into him simultaneously and it only helps to make Sylvain’s body cry out in pleasure. And while there’s not much to be said for privacy within Yuri’s compound, Dimitri knows the place well enough to find a spot for him and Sylvain to have moments like these.

And for Sylvain, it feels like heaven.

But the debt still looms over his head, as well as Yuri’s plan to infiltrate Miklan’s current base. It doesn’t make sense to Sylvain; is Yuri that elusive of a gang boss himself? What kind of connections does he have that makes him think he can topple Miklan’s seedy empire?

His thoughts are interrupted with one fatal hit to his prostate and he grips at Dimitri’s jacket, ready to spill in that moment. “Sh-shit, you outta prep a guy.” He tries to laugh it off but one look down at Dimitri and he sees that he’s in a trance-like state, completely lost in the moment.

With a careful tilt of Dimitri’s chin, Sylvain places a kiss on his lips to rouse him from his state, getting his rhythm to pick up until Sylvain comes into his own hand.

Dimitri’s soon to follow, pulling out after a few shallow thrusts to spill onto the grimy floor beneath them.

Sylvain tries to catch his breath, holding Dimitri close to his chest; something about this guy seems so desperate, almost scared he could lose Sylvain any second. And it’s a mystery why he’s so drawn to Sylvain. Why would anyone care for a lowlife like him?

He kisses Dimitri’s forehead, catching beads of sweat on his thumb before meeting the gaze of his eye.

“You alright there?”

Dimitri nods and there’s a slight shake to his shoulders, his eye darting back down as he buries his face into Sylvain’s neck.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Sylvain says softly in a laugh.

“Just…nervous,” Dimitri mumbles, holding Sylvain close, closer than they were moments ago when he was balls deep in Sylvain.

But Sylvain understands. The fear in Dimitri’s eye from a few days ago when he found Sylvain in the alley; Sylvain must have been in a really bad state. He’s still got the bruises and scabs to prove it, along with some awful pain in his abdomen, but he hasn’t bothered to look in a mirror in the past five days. Not like he can find a decently clean one in the compound. And he knows one exists; Yuri’s impeccable makeup is proof enough.

“We’ll have back up,” Sylvain hums, rubbing circles low against Dimitri’s back. “And I’ll have you, my guardian angel.”

Dimitri groans at the nickname, but Sylvain can’t help but laugh.

“Hey, it’s either that or King.”

Dimitri lifts up his head and his expression is exactly what Sylvain wants to see. “How about neither?”

“What, you expect me to just use your name?”

Dimitri’s eye flutters closed, a serene smile on his lips as he closes the minuscule distance between them, fingers threading through red tresses. “Yes,” he says in hardly a whisper.

Sylvain smirks. “Dimitri,” he hums, and lets his mouth be taken over by his guardian angel, his Dimitri.

* * *

It doesn’t take long for Yuri to find their “secret” spot, breaking them up in the middle of another round of mind-blowing sex. He seems unfazed, aside from a few coy remarks on the size of Dimitri’s dick.

“Fit for a king,” he muses, dragging the pair from their corner as they fumble to make themselves look mildly decent.

“Yuri, please.” Dimitri’s voice is strained, but the flush on his cheeks tells Sylvain he does accept it as a compliment. And he can’t help but want to kiss him. But that may be unrelated.

Sylvain grabs Dimitri’s hand as they walk back into the wide open space of the compound, sneaking a kiss on his cheek before they join a pack of men who are somehow larger than Dimitri.

“These guys will be your back up if anything goes terribly wrong. But please understand, I’m trying to keep my guys as protected as possible. This is about finding Miklan’s current location, got it?”

“And what part of this doesn’t prove you’re also a gang leader?”

Yuri’s eye twitches as he turns back to his crew. “Because I help people. And they help me.”

“You know my brother can use those words, too.”

“Gautier, if you keep trying to compare me to your brother, I’ll call these guys off from helping you at all.”

Sylvain sighs and nods, Dimitri’s hold only growing tighter in his hand.

“I don’t deal drugs,” Yuri says deadpan. “Not anymore, at least. And I’ve got kids here. People seriously down on their luck. I don’t expect anything in return.”

“Except from me.”

Yuri sighs, leaning against one of his beefy subordinates. “I guess that’s the curse of your name, then, huh? Look, I’m not gonna beat you to a pulp if this doesn’t work out, but you do put a nice bullseye on us by being here. You’re Miklan’s favorite target.”

He doesn’t need Yuri to tell him that; years of abuse are proof enough.

“Understood,” Sylvain says a little bitterly. He was the one who agreed to this, though. But he can’t fault Yuri for being right; he’s an obvious connection to Miklan, and he’s not in the mood to shave his head or dye his perfect hair a different color to hide the resemblance. “So, when are we heading out?”

Yuri smirks and Sylvain wonders how he got a nickname like Mockingbird when something like Viper seems much more fitting. “Now.”

Sylvain suppresses a groan and drops Dimitri’s hand. “Alright. Let’s get moving, then. I guess.”

“All you’ve gotta do is walk around in broad daylight. Your brother’s area tends to be the Lower East Side.” Yuri presses two subway tokens into Sylvain’s palm. “Let’s get going.”

The plan involves Sylvain going ahead, with Dimitri close behind and Yuri and his thugs (because Sylvain can’t help but think of them as anything but that) tailing him further behind.

Unfortunately, Dimitri doesn’t want to be close behind Sylvain; he insists on behind _with_ him.

“You know,” Sylvain whispers to him on the subway, one of Yuri’s guys on the opposite end of the car; he’s glaring at the pair like he’s about to beat them up and instead of saving them from such a fate. “I appreciate your dedication, but…”

“I don’t have to follow all of Yuri’s rules,” he says shortly, the intensity of his eye sending a shiver down Sylvain’s spine. “I’m my own man and I’ll do what I have to to keep you safe.”

Sylvain curses that they’re in public right now; all he wants to do is climb into Dimitri’s lap and suffocate him in a kiss. He bites his lip in an attempt to quell his arousal; it’s not the time when he’s willingly walking into the pits of hell.

They get off a few stops later and Sylvain manages to convince Dimitri to stay a few paces behind. It’s his first time on the street since his last run in with Miklan and he’s noticing a lot more stares than he usually gets, so of course he guesses he must _really_ look like shit. An old woman almost approaches him, reminding him of Ms. Nuvelle, but before he can even think about how worried she must be for him, he’s dragged down an alleyway and shoved into a trash can.

“Look who it is,” the thug sings in an off-key melody. He’s got a knife at Sylvain’s neck, a familiar position for Sylvain.

“Yup, look who it is. Me.”

“Boss says you’ve got two days. Where’s the money, pretty boy?”

Sylvain shrugs and tries to swallow down his terror. “Don’t have it.”

The thug smiles, his teeth revealing just how badly this guy likes to smoke crack. “Thought so. Good thing we’ve got ways to motivate you.”

Just as the knife is nearing Sylvain’s eye, Dimitri jumps in, wrenching back the thug’s wrist until it gives a sickening snap.

The thug screams, a pack of pigeons fluttering out of the alleyway as his knife clatters to the ground.

“Don’t you touch him.” The rumble of Dimitri’s voice shoots Sylvain directly in the dick, but he doesn’t have time to settle in his arousal as another pair of thugs slip into the alleyway, grabbing both Dimitri and Sylvain and throwing bags over their heads.

“Too bad for the two of you,” the thug on the ground says, huffing wildly. “The Boss is in a shit mood today.”

Without much fanfare, Sylvain is dragged out of the alley, his hands tied behind his back as he’s shoved into a car. He can hear Dimitri yelling behind him and after a swift thumping sound, he falls silent and slumped against Sylvain inside the car.

“Shit, Dimitri? Dimitri!!”

“Shut up, pretty boy,” a different, gruff voice says from the front seat. He’s not sure how the car is able to swerve and speed around the city streets as it does; he only hopes Yuri’s thugs have a car of their own, or are able to get a cab to swing them around the city.

After several minutes, the car screeches to a stop, throwing Sylvain against the back of the seat.

“Fuck, where did you learn to…?”

As the door beside him is opened, he’s punched in the gut and dragged out of the car. Moments later, his knees fall hard to a concrete floor and the bag over his head is removed, revealing Miklan before him.

He’s pissed, more so than he was five days ago, and the women at his desk are different than before. And Sylvain was always told _he_ was a playboy.

Miklan’s sharpening a dagger as he sits on the edge of his desk, his mood dark and silent.

“It’s been five days,” he says. “Any money?”

Sylvain chances a glance over to his side, spotting Dimitri’s form slumped over on the floor, the dark, fabric of the bag softly fluttering in front of his face.

“Don’t,” Sylvain swallows hard, “have it.”

In a fury, Miklan jams the point of his dagger into his desk; the women behind him gasp and back up several steps.

“Then what the fuck have you been _doing_ , Sylvie?!” His voice gets louder with each word before it shakes the steel beams in the warehouse.

Sylvain is silent. He doesn’t answer, doesn’t move. Tries not to breathe.

It’s not good enough for Miklan. It never is.

“Huh? You gonna tell me?”

He slips off the desk, walking over to Dimitri. “Is it him? Have you been doing him? Not paying up, is he?” He laughs, thinking his joke hilarious, but Sylvain doesn’t see the wild sheen in Miklan’s eye until he peels the bag off Dimitri’s head.

“Oh, this is too good,” he giggles maniacally. “Hey, Tony! Get me some cold water over here. We’ve got a special guest with us.”

A larger thug comes over, shoving a dirty glass of water into Miklan’s hands.

Sylvain doesn’t trust the look Miklan gives him; it’s wild, deranged, the happiest he’s been since he pushed Sylvain down the well in their grandmother’s backyard when he was five.

Slowly, Miklan lets the water dribble over Dimitri’s face, his blond lashes fluttering until he gets a face full of the water and a kick in the stomach.

Dimitri coughs, squirming on the floor pathetically and Miklan stands over him, arms outstretched.

“It’s been a while, big boy! Didn’t think I’d see you again!”

Sylvain hearts sinks at Miklan’s words: he knows Dimitri?

Dimitri continues to cough, his good eye fluttering open. It pops wide when he sees Miklan, his face going ghost white. He’s shaking his head, teeth chattering in his mouth. Sylvain has never seen a man so frightened.

“What are you doing with my baby brother, huh? You know he’s a whore, right? A big ol’ gaping hole slut?” Miklan tosses his head back in laughter as Dimitri’s eye darts between the two brothers. He’s shaking his head, lips mumbling a silent protest.

“Sylvain, how did you come across my former best fighter?”

Sylvain doesn’t speak; he doesn’t want to put Dimitri in jeopardy. Yuri’s stupid plan has done that enough. He merely steels his gaze, keeping his eyes locked on Miklan.

“Yeah, yeah, he was good. Knocked out a bunch of guys, made me some decent money, too. Didn’t think he could lose.” He walks back over to Dimitri, slipping the toe of his boot under Dimitri’s eyepatch.

The way Dimitri squirms makes Sylvain sick, but he’s helpless to do anything.

“Was I wrong or what?” He flaps the eyepatch over with his boot until it’s lying on the ground.

Dimitri tries to smother his face into the concrete ground, mumbling and whining and writhing on the floor. Sylvain shakes, his wrists rubbing raw against the restraints; fuck Miklan for whatever he did to Dimitri.

With a sick laugh, Miklan grabs Dimitri’s chin, lifting him off the ground into a kneel and shoving his face towards Sylvain’s direction. “Oh, that’s nasty,” he tsks, shaking his head. “Don’t you think so, Sylvie?”

Sylvain gasps out a cry when he sees Dimitri’s right eye for the first time. Or, where his eye used to be. It’s a warped mess; his eye lid sealed shut, bruises and scars covering the whole thing, sunken deep into his skull. Sylvain wants to break through his restraints, wants to strangle Miklan, but he knows it’ll be the last thing he ever does.

And so what if it is?

He huffs out an angry breath, his body shaking with rage. “What the fuck did you do to him, Miklan?”

“Oooh, so protective!” Miklan laughs and tosses Dimitri’s head back to the ground as he stands up, walking back to his desk. “I didn’t do that. Honestly, I forget the name of the guy who did, but I couldn’t have Big Boy over here fight for me after a loss like that. Lost almost a twenty grand after that fight. Not worth it.”

His laugh rumbles low as Dimitri continues to squirm in his spot.

“I’m curious how you two got so close, especially after being apart for so long.”

Dimitri is back to his knees, shuffling over to Miklan maddeningly. He’s shaking his head, tears streaming down the left side of his face. “N-no, don’t, Miklan _please_.”

Sylvain feels his body go numb at the sight of it. “What the fuck are you going on about?”

Miklan laughs, pressing his boot to Dimitri’s chest to keep him from getting closer. “What, spending all this time with him and you don’t know? Guess that makes sense. Dad did say your memory was never the same after the coma. Wish you could’ve stayed like that for life.”

Sylvain swallows hard, his gaze shifting between Miklan, unnervingly calm and smug, and Dimitri, silently begging.

“The moment this guy told me he was _responsible_ for that shit…”

Sylvain freezes. He forgets how to breathe. How to blink.

“…I knew I needed him in the gang.”

“Miklan, no, please, I’m begging you, stop!”

“Thought it was weird, having a kid from our hometown show up here, but shit. Gotta have him in the gang if he was the one who put my dear old Sylvie in that coma.”

Miklan leans over, his hands back on Dimitri’s chin and forcing him to face Sylvain. “Ain’t that right? Dimitri?”

Blond hair, bright blue eyes, sincere words, and warm embraces. The friend Sylvain forgot. The friend Sylvain thought he made up.

“Is…that true?”

Dimitri is crying, a pathetic mess in Miklan’s hands. He’s shaking his head, or trying to through the vice grip on his face, but his words only mumble one phrase, over and over. “I’m sorry.”

“Holy shit,” Sylvain says soundlessly and Miklan laughs, throwing Dimitri to the floor once more.

“Well, this was fun, kiddos,” he says, stomping over to Sylvain and leaning down to meet him, nose to nose. “But I still need my money. You’ve got two days.”

After a swift punch to Sylvain’s face, everything goes black.

Again.

* * *

Sylvain wakes up to gentle shaking, Dimitri’s voice fading into focus from above him. As he remembers the feeling in his body, his lip curls up and he smacks both arms away. He stands, barely able to register his whereabouts, and leans heavily along the wall.

“Sylvain, are you…?”

“Get the fuck away from me,” he mumbles, stumbling out of the alley and into the street.

“Sylvain, please, I can explain…”

“Why didn’t you say anything?!” He spins on his heel, screaming. All that Gautier rage built up and coming out almost as severe as Miklan’s. “This whole time, you’ve known me this whole fucking time?! And you just…stayed silent?”

“I didn’t…”

“What?!” Sylvain feels hot tears on his face, but he doesn’t care. “Didn’t want to fuck up my mind or whatever bullshit? Shit, Dimitri.” He turns around, continuing his pace but the moment he feels fingers on his elbow he stops.

There’s silence, save for a few passersby who mumble and speed up around them.

“It explains a whole lot. You trying to protect me. And what for? To keep your secret safe?”

“Miklan, he…”

“He’s a piece of shit, yeah, I know. I don’t need you telling me that.”

Sylvain turns and looks right into Dimitri’s face, staring long at the disgusting gash over his right eye. “Can’t believe you told _him_ , of all people. And that’s why he let you in the gang.”

His laugh is dark, empty, and as Sylvain turns to walk away, Dimitri doesn’t bother to reach out again.

Sylvain doesn’t mind, doesn’t care. Just continues to walk until Dimitri is out of sight.

| _I've seen your face before my friend; but I don't know if you know who I am_ |

Sylvain walks the whole way back to his apartment for the first time in five days. He wants to make sure he lets Ms. Nuvelle know that he’s okay, but he doesn’t get the chance when he sees the entire contents of his apartment out on the street corner.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” he groans, collapsing onto the curb beside his bright red phone.

“Sylvain?!”

He looks up; Dorothea is on the opposite side of his shit, and waves pathetically.

“Hey, Dot.”

She ignores the hated nickname, falling into his arms and crushing his face into her chest. “I was so worried! You wouldn’t answer any of my calls and then it said your phone was disconnected and I didn’t understand, all in a manner of days, and…”

“Probably Miklan,” he groaned, closing his eyes and settling into the warmth of her breasts, taking in the floral hints of her perfume. “Not like it matters, I’ll be dead in two days, anyway.”

She pulls back, sitting on her heels and tilting her head to the side. “You’re not usually _this_ morbid.”

“He gave me a due date, Dorothea. All of the debt paid off or else.”

“Oh no…”

“How did that audition go, by the way?”

She rolls her eyes, huffing as she stands up, hands at her hips. “Just awful. I hope the dreadful thing flops. Who cares about a bunch of dirty French Revolutionaries singing about their deaths and bread or whatever?” She sighs and reaches out her hand. “Need any help with this stuff?”

Sylvain shakes his head, standing up without her help and grabbing the phone. “Don’t need it,” he says, shoving it into her hands. “I’ll grab some clothes and just…be on my way. Keep the phone, I know how much you’ve always liked it.”

“Sylvain…?”

He wanders around the pile until he finds some of his clothes, slipping a black hoodie on to cover his hair and throwing a bunch more into a duffle bag. “Take care, Dot. Make it on the big stage for me, got it?”

He winks and goes on his way, ignoring her protests as he slips into a dark alleyway.

* * *

It’s a few blocks before he ends up in a slightly nicer part of the city; he can tell by the spare change littering the ground. Shit like that doesn’t last in his area. If he can even call it that anymore.

He bends over, grabbing a few quarters and a subway token, and continues on his walk until he comes upon a payphone. He sighs; there’s only one number from back home other than his father’s that he has memorized but never dials. Perhaps this is the time to put it to use.

He picks up the phone, letting the dial tone bore into his brain. He slots in a quarter, smacks the worn down keys in the familiar pattern, and waits.

It only takes a few rings before the person on the other line picks up, notably cautious.

“Hello?”

“Shit, Fe, your voice hasn’t changed a bit!”

“Sylvain?!”

In the background, he can hear Ingrid and the sound of a baby babbling; has she already married Glenn by now? And she’s a mother?

“Been thinking about you and Ingrid a lot lately. How are things?”

He pauses, the muffled sound of conversation on the other line before Felix returns to the phone.

“I mean, they’re fine. She’s over right now with the baby. Glenn’s on a business trip, so…”

Sylvain smiles and leans against the pay phone, closing his eyes to imagine the dull, suburban life he abandoned for whatever petty reasons suited him at the time. Why did he think running away from his father to end up in Miklan’s clutches was a better way to live?

“Why…why are you calling, anyway? We haven’t spoken in years, I could have changed my number.”

Sylvain sighs, accepting the possible scenario but thankful it wasn’t the case. “I’ve got a question. For both of you.”

“Yeah?”

Sylvain pauses, trying desperately to take a breath that refuses to fill his lungs.

“Why didn’t you ever talk about Dimitri?”

The line goes dead, or at least Sylvain thinks it does before Felix sighs loudly. “We…we were told not to,” he says softly and in the background he can hear Ingrid nearly yell.

“Is he asking about Dimitri?!” She sounds almost scandalized.

“Why?” It makes no sense to Sylvain; why keep someone like that private, a secret? The person who sent him into a coma for…whatever reason.

“The doctor didn’t know how it would affect your brain injury, so he told us not to bring it up.”

“Is that for real?”

Felix sighs again, but he sounds more frustrated now. Irritable. Just like how he used to be. “We honestly didn’t want to bring him up, either, not after he…”

“What did he do?”

Sylvain’s tone produces more silence on the line until the sound of a baby crying breaks his trance.

“What the fuck did he do to put me in a fucking coma?”

He’s screaming, but he doesn’t realize it until his voice echoes back to him in the small alcove of the payphone.

Sylvain hears shuffling, and then it’s Ingrid on the phone. She’s shushing the baby and Sylvain can’t even believe she would do something so domestic. The girl who wanted to go on to be an Olympic gold medalist, saddled with the life of suburban motherhood.

“Sylvain,” she says, with all the motherly warmth she never had when they were kids. “You really don’t remember him?”

“No.” And he keeps it short. He doesn’t want to go into details about his past few weeks, unknowingly reuniting with a childhood friend in a sex filled frenzy.

“It happened at his parents’ funeral.”

That’s all it takes to jog Sylvain’s memory, and it hurts, a sharp pain seizing his temples.

“You said something really insensitive and he just snapped.”

Sylvain laughs, low and devoid of mirth. “Probably something douchey about how I wished it were my dad in the casket or something like that.”

“Um, yes, actually. That’s pretty much exactly what you said.”

“Seems I remember more that I realized.”

“We never saw him act like that before. He hit you so hard, you fell back against one of the caskets, splitting your head right open.”

There’s another searing pain that rips across Sylvain’s skull and he clutches the back of his head, running his fingers over a scar he always attributed to Miklan. But he knows better know, remembers better. “Holy shit,” he whispers.

Felix takes the phone again, he voice somber. “He regretted it the second it happened, but…”

“Yeah, I bet.”

“Your dad wouldn’t let him visit you in the hospital and it only made him more angry. That was the last any of us saw of him. The next we heard, his uncle packed him up and sent him to some boarding school out east.”

Boarding school. Getting into fights. Sending kids to the hospital.

Sylvain feels like a fool, his forehead buried in his hand as he tries to finish up the phone call.

“Why are asking about him now? Did you…run into him or something?”

Leaning his head back, Sylvain tries to stop any tears from welling up. “You could say that. Anyway, I should probably go before the meter runs out. It was nice talking to you, Fe. We should…catch up some more.”

He doesn’t let Felix finish or get a word in to say goodbye, just hangs up the phone and slides down to the sidewalk.

It seems all too convenient, falling together too nicely. But he wants to see Dimitri, needs to, now. The bitter feeling of betrayal can die out; Sylvain can swallow it down like he has his pride the past few years.

For now, he clutches the duffle bag to his chest and slips into a miserable sleep.

* * *

He wakes up to a small child poking him, rousing him from the worst sleep he’s ever gotten in his life.

“Bobby, get away from that man,” their mother cries, prying little Bobby away from the scary, totally dangerous man that is a homeless Sylvain, slumped next to a payphone.

He groans, leaning his head back against the brick building behind him and wincing as he presses over the scar on the back of his head. It’s not that it hurts, but he’s hyper aware of it since his phone call with Felix and Ingrid. That day comes back to him slowly and only in flashes, but Dimitri’s face is clearer than ever.

Younger, rounder, stupidest hair cut ever, and two eyes, burning bright blue.

He remembers the comment he made, too. He meant for it to…not come out the way it did; perhaps telling your friend that you wish your own parent dead at the funeral of his parents _was_ a little insensitive.

“I’ve been a fuck up from the beginning,” he mumbles, getting to his feet and slinging the duffle bag over his shoulder, continuing to wander down the streets until he hits the first subway station in his path.

Sticking his hand in his pocket, he pulls out the solitary token he found on the ground the previous night.

“May as well.”

He has no where else to go and another night on the streets is not ideal; Yuri’s compound is his only option. He just hopes Dimitri will…

“Fuck,” he grumbles, sliding in his token and rushing through the turnstile. He’s conflicted; the way Dimitri acted around Miklan still makes him sick. A man like Dimitri, six foot two and built like a greek god, able to knock out the teeth of any thug, staring up at Miklan in fear, begging for him not to do anything to hurt Sylvain. To hurt _him_.

Miklan needs to be stopped. And Yuri is the one for that task.

And Dimitri…

He sighs as he slips into the first downtown train he spots, taking a seat in the corner of the car.

He’s not entirely sure what to make of everything, and the moment he starts thinking about it, his head starts to throb. Memories of Dimitri are slowly slipping back into place, wide smiles and too tight hand holding; awkward glances and bright pink cheeks. And the fury of a kid who just lost his parents.

Sylvain needs to know more, needs to not…

“I’m an idiot.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

He flicks his head up, coming face to face with Hapi. She has a smirk on her lips, holding up her hand in a small wave. “Hey, Red.”

“Hapi? What are you doing here? Why aren’t you at the…”

She holds a finger to her lips, taking a few glances around the train before leaning forward. “Looking for you, actually. And Didi. He hasn’t come back since last night, either.”

Sylvain’s chest tightens; that’s on him, for walking out on Dimitri, for leaving him to his own devices, just because of a stupid, teenage fight.

His head throbs again and he whines, burying his face in the duffle bag.

“Too much to drink last night? Drowning your sorrows?”

“I wish that were the reason,” he moans, keeping his face pressed against the duffle bag.

Hapi just hums in response, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. “He cares a lot about you. He’s been worried about you finding out everything about him and not wanting him back anymore.”

“It’s not that,” Sylvain whispers, sitting back up. “I just…”

She gets up, squeezing to sit in the space between Sylvain and the mock-wood paneling of the subway car. “You two are made for each other,” she says, rubbing her hand up Sylvain’s back. “You’re both too disastrous not to be.”

That’s enough to make Sylvain laugh and he peeks up at her, charmed by her smile. “Thanks. I guess.”

* * *

They’re quiet for the rest of the trip back to the compound, refuge — Sylvain’s not even sure what to call it anymore — and when they walk into the wide expanse of the room, Dimitri is there. He’s sitting on the floor, nearly curled in a ball with his hands covering his head. Yuri stands behind him, arms crossed and shaking his head as he talks to the big, bulky, thugs around him.

“Oh cool, you found him,” Hapi says, pushing Sylvain ahead of her.

He stumbles, dropping his duffle bag to the floor and catching Dimitri’s attention.

Slowly, he lifts up his head, his blue eye bloodshot and outlined with dark, puffy skin.

“And I thought I had a rough night,” Sylvain laughs, trying to keep his spirits up.

Yuri nods his head at his crew and they start to dissipate. “We’ll give you two a few moments.”

Soon, it’s just them in the center of the room, everyone else at the edges of the warehouse, sitting under broken glass windows and huddled in blankets.

Sylvain walks over, kneeling before Dimitri and smirking. “You’re a mess.”

It’s enough to get Dimitri’s lip to twitch up, but no smile yet. “You should take a look at yourself.”

It’s an attempt and Sylvain appreciates it, running his hand through his hair and only wincing slightly when his finger glides over the scar. Dimitri’s scar. _Their_ scar.

“I’m sorry,” is all Dimitri mumbles as he drops his head once more. “For everything, for…”

Sylvain rests his hand on Dimitri’s shoulder, gently shaking him until that beaten blue eye is back on him.

“He’s a piece of shit,” Sylvain says, keeping his voice low. “For holding that over you, for treating you like a fight dog, for…” He bites his lip, holding back tears. “I just wish you told me. That’s all.”

Dimitri dares to move, inching closer until he can wrap his arms around Sylvain, his body shaking as he takes in a breath. “I’ve hated myself for so long for doing that to you, and the moment I saw you here in this city. The moment I saw you leave Miklan’s base, I just…couldn’t let that happen again.”

“So you really _have_ been my guardian angel this whole time.”

Dimitri groans, pulling back to gently brush Sylvain’s face with his thumb. “I don’t want anyone to hurt you every again. Especially me.”

Grabbing his wrist, Sylvain pulls it aside to brush his lips against Dimitri’s, catching them in a gentle kiss. Dimitri moans pathetically and Sylvain can feel wet tears on his lips as he smiles, urging Dimitri’s lips to part with his tongue until they’re lost in each other.

They break apart, only for a moment, as Dimitri sobs quietly, clutching onto Sylvain as if he’ll disappear in smoke. “I love you,” he cries out, “for so long, I have only thought of you, I…”

“It’s okay, Dimitri.” Sylvain wipes some of the tears from Dimitri’s face, smudging some bits of dirt and dried blood along with it. “I get it.”

He kisses him once more, and holds his head to his chest. “I love you, too.”

| _ride into the the danger zone_ |

Yuri manages to knock some sense into the blubbering fools, getting them back on their feet and leading them to the bathrooms to wash up.

“Luckily, we were able to locate Miklan’s base even though his bastard thugs used a car. I’ve had my men stakeout the place over the night. We should still be good for tomorrow.”

Sylvain raises a brow as he rinses off his face with water, stinking of metal. “What do you mean?”

Yuri sighs, leaning against the door frame of the bathroom; Dimitri is silent and still at the next sink over.

“Now that we’ve got his location pinned down, I have a plan to stop Miklan once and for all. If you’re still up for it.”

Sylvain rolls his eyes and is tempted to slam his fist into the already broken mirror in front of him. “Do you really still need me?!”

“I don’t.” Yuri’s voice is flat, devoid of any emotion. “But if you’re so desperate to be rid of him, don’t you want to be there? To see him fall?”

“You’re not gonna kill him, are you?”

Yuri laughs, its high pitch resonating in the small room, bouncing off the stall doors hanging loose on their hinges. “No, no, nothing like that. But I’ll be able to put an end to his bullshit. And then you’ll be free. Both of you.”

Dimitri lifts his head up, his eye filled with steely resolve; he has another white, medical grade patch over his right eye, replaced after Miklan’s humiliation the night before.

“I’ll do it,” he says softly, reaching over for Sylvain’s hand and giving it a tight squeeze. “I’d like to see it.”

“Good.” And Yuri turns around, stepping out of the bathroom and back into the wide expanse of the main room. “I won’t need you two for long, but you know, closure and all that. Might be good for you.”

Sylvain stares at the now empty door frame, shaking his head as he tries to make sense of Yuri as a person. Luckily, Dimitri’s hand on his shoulder shakes him out of his trance.

“You’re okay with this?”

Sylvain shrugs; his debt is due tomorrow, and he’s leaving his trust completely to Yuri and whatever plan his has to topple Miklan’s power over the underground world of the city.

“Sure, whatever.” He looks to Dimitri, taking his hand and placing a kiss on his knuckles. “I called Felix and Ingrid last night.”

Dimitri’s eye opens wide, his face nearly going white from hearing their names.

“They, ah, filled me in on what happened back then.”

Dimitri turns away, staring off at his reflection in the rusted over mirror above his sink. “I had never seen them so scared, all because of me. I don’t blame them for keeping me away from you. And, well, your father…”

“Fuck him.”

Dimitri laughs, soft and nervously, before closing the distance between him and Sylvain, wrapping his arms tight and holding him close. “He wasn’t a warm man, but at least he was better than my uncle.”

Sylvain sighs, running his fingers through Dimitri’s hair; so much is still a mystery to him. “What…happened with all that?”

Dimitri’s quiet for a moment, like he’s a little boy again. “Sent me off to boarding school, like I said. Easier than dealing with an angry kid. When they kicked me out, I had no way to contact him. He had moved, changed his number, and by the time I located him, I found out he blew my inheritance on…”

“Women and drugs?”

Dimitri laughs, but it’s dark, his face hidden from Sylvain’s view. “Most likely. That’s how I ended up here. Didn’t take long to wander into this city. And Miklan, he…recognized me right away.”

“As the kid who knocked his brother into a several week long coma, yeah, I remember that bit now.”

Dimitri squirms and he’s quiet again; Sylvain’s gotta watch his tongue.

He sighs and nudges Dimitri out of the bathroom with him until they’re back in the main room, walking to the little group of blankets and clothes they’ve designated as their space. “It’s okay, I’m just being an ass.”

“And you do it so well,” Dimitri sighs, flopping down onto the pile of blankets. He looks up, brow lifting with uncertainty, and pats the spot next to him.

“Anything for you, babe.” He joins Dimitri, settling his head into his lap and falling calm under the brush of his fingers. He cherishes the moment, unsure of what the next day will bring, unsure of Yuri’s plans, but he has Dimitri. All of him; body and mind, past and present. He doesn’t let anything else come between them, this time.

He refuses to.

* * *

The following day is quiet and there’s a light drizzle outside that casts the whole main room of the compound in a dreary, gray light. Yuri briefs Sylvain and Dimitri, telling them his guys have been watching the warehouse since Sylvain’s last run-in with his brother and it won’t take long before the ambush on Miklan’s base takes place.

“You still haven’t told me what exactly you’re planning on doing.”

“Not important,” Yuri says and he guides the two of them towards the rusted garage door that leads to the outside streets. “Make your peace, give him a good punch in the teeth, and it’ll all be over soon.”

“Gee. Thanks.” Sylvain can’t think about anything but his inevitable death, but Dimitri takes his hand and guides him outside.

They’re both wearing hooded jackets, covering their hair from being too easily noticed from any of Miklan’s thugs. But rainy days don’t make good weather for street sales so he hopes they can be the ones to enter on their own instead of being dragged to Miklan’s feet.

Sylvain holds a small piece of paper in his hands, hastily written directions in Yuri’s hand to Miklan’s place. It’s mostly through side streets, nothing that will put them on the main drag. They’ve been told to avoid the subway, avoid taking a cab. The slower it takes them, the quicker Yuri’s plan can fall into place.

They near the end of their journey and Sylvain’s at a loss for words; he’s never gotten this close before. He looks up at the sealed door, a graffiti covered sign hanging above that long ago marked the building as a reputable business.

“Should we…knock?” Dimitri looks over to him, casting nervous glances around him in the eerie silence.

“Why not?”

Sylvain raises his hand, curled into a fist; it’s shaking profusely. He doesn’t have the money. He doesn’t have a weapon besides the guy by his side. He only has the thin thread of trust in Yuri and the hope that he _can_ land a punch before he’s a pile of guts on the warehouse floor.

He knocks, a hollow echo filling the alley, before the sound of several doors and screens opening and locks jiggling out of place fills his ears. A broad shouldered thug hangs in the doorway, slowly titling his head to the side.

“Who the fuck…?”

Dimitri slams the guy’s face into the door frame with a swift punch and Sylvain watches as he topples to the ground.

Sylvain stands in awe before Dimitri grabs his hand and they dart into the warehouse.

There are voices chattering as the two men weave their way in, confused glances and yells following them as they head towards a dimly lit doorway; Miklan is in there.

He lifts his head, lip curled up in confusion, as Dimitri flies through the door and tackles Miklan to the ground.

“B-babe, what the fuck?”

He’s in shock that they made it this far in without a group of thugs grabbing at them, but he knows it won’t last for long. With a thick swallow, Sylvain ushers the two women out of the room as he shuts the door with shaking hands.

“What the…? Get the fuck off me! Tony!!”

The large man from the other night descends from a shadow and grabs Dimitri, pulling him off Miklan.

Sylvain’s brother stands up, wiping at his swollen lip and frantically looking about the room. “What the fuck is going on?”

Sylvain pulls his hood down, standing as tall as he can before Miklan can register his two new guests.

“Oh. Sylvie. To what do I owe the displeasure?”

“I just want to say,” he says over the sound of Dimitri’s thrashing. “I don’t have your money. And I don’t give a fuck.” He runs forward, bracing his fist and aiming it for Miklan’s jaw. He succeeds in landing a punch, but he didn’t consider the amount of guards Miklan would have in the room with him. He’s pulled off of Miklan, legs kicking wildly as he glances over to Dimitri, his face red with rage.

“Well, you should.” Miklan spits, wiping his lip on his sleeve and staring darkly at Sylvain. “Because you’re about to…”

There’s a scream outside the door, following by another and then a rush of footsteps headed for the door.

It bursts open, the squirrelly looking kid from weeks ago staring at Miklan with wide eyes, pupils blown out and white powder under his nose. “B-boss, we’ve gotta run. It’s the cops, they’re…”

“You brought the cops?!”

Miklan turns to Sylvain, his teeth clenched tight. He’s taking slow steps before the kid at the door is knocked over by familiar looking thug; one of Yuri’s men, followed closely by another.

Sylvain takes this opportunity to kick the thug behind him in the balls (he doesn’t deserve the mercy) and grabs Dimitri, darting into a corner of the room behind a group of filing cabinets and piles of useless papers.

Miklan screams as the pairs of large men start to fight in the room. He scrambles about his desk, stuffing as much money and drugs as he can into his pockets until he’s ambushed by a small group of cops. He yells, curses out Sylvain’s name as he’s dragged out of the room, Yuri’s thugs following with their quarry in tow until it’s just Sylvain and Dimitri, barely breathing in the corner of the room.

It’s silent, save for the scurrying in the other rooms, yells and grunts as the base is slowly emptied. And then there are footsteps. Soft and quiet, walking into Miklan’s office and stopping just inches before Sylvain and Dimitri.

They look up and sigh with relief as they find Yuri, standing above them with a smug smile on his lips. “See? All good. And you got to punch him. Both of you!”

“How did you…?”

Yuri shrugs, looking off to the side at the doorway. “I’ve got my connections. Miklan’s gang had a good hold on the cops in this area, but the Feds? Miklan doesn’t stand a chance in hell against them.”

“Wait, those were the Feds? How in the hell…?”

Yuri winks, lifting a finger to his lips. “I’ll never tell.” He tosses a bag to their feet and turns away, waving off.

“Thanks for helping out. A little consolation prize. You two get the fuck outta here. I mean it.”

Sylvain looks into Dimitri’s eye, the sounds of the warehouse slowly dying out and they both look at the bag.

Sylvain reaches out, pulling it towards them. As he peers inside, a somewhat crazed laugh fills his throat. He can barely believe it.

“Sylvain?”

He smirks, pulling out a wad of hundred dollar bills, tied together with rubber bands. “Guess that means we can get the fuck outta here, huh?”

Dimitri shakes his head; his face twists and his brow curves, as if he’s grappling with the situation. “I don’t understand, that’s…”

“Hey, it’s cool,” Sylvain says, holding him close and kissing his cheeks. “I’ve always wanted to check out the West Coast. How about it? You and me?”

It’s finally completely silent in the warehouse. The metal creaks around them, rain hitting the roof above, but slowly, a smiles spreads across Dimitri’s lips and he laughs.

“Yeah,” he whispers, resting his head against Sylvain’s shoulder. “I like the sound of that.”

Sylvain smiles, tilting up Dimitri’s chin to stare into that blue eye once more, the promise he made to himself coming true. He leans in close, his eyes fluttering closed as they kiss, one more phrase on his lips before they’re completely lost in one another.

“Let’s go.”

| _end_ |

**Author's Note:**

> Song lyrics used throughout the fic are from:
> 
> "Photograph" & "Hysteria" - Def Leppard  
> "How Will I Know" - Whitney Houston  
> "The Power of Love" - Huey Lewis & The News  
> "The Boys of Summer" - Don Henley  
> "Broken Wings" - Mr. Mister  
> "Hurts So Good" - John Mellencamp (also fic title origin)  
> "In the Air Tonight" - Phil Collins  
> "Danger Zone" - Kenny Loggins
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! You can find me over on [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/thnkurluckystar)


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